The Earl's Daughter
by GaladVende
Summary: Lady Abigail is being sent off to court to make an eligible match. A man noble enough and above all rich enough to suit her Father...the infamous Earl of Mattensworth, known for getting just what he wants just how he wants...COMPLETE
1. Beginnings

**The Earl's Daughter**

* * *

**Chapter 1- Beginnings**

"Oh truly, I could never marry that fright!" giggled Lady Abigail. Her friends, Lady Sophia and Lady Abigail's handmaiden, Keosha Jameson were sitting or standing, according to their stations. Abigail and Sophia were embroidering chair backs, discussing which of the many eligible (if not desirable) bachelors their Fathers may offer their hands to.  
  
Both Abigail and Sophia were seventeen, nearly eighteen. Lady Sophia being the daughter of a Baron and an heiress, she could choose many, many rich and titled men from King James's court. Sophia had deep blonde hair the colour of honey in soft waves. Lady Sophia was known for her almost impossible clear skin that was accented by a small beauty mark in the middle of her right cheek. With her slender body and dimpled face, Sophia was the very picture of Arulanthian beauty.  
  
Sophia's dark blue eyes brushed over her equally beautiful friend. Lady Abigail's Father was a wealthy earl who loved his daughter for her looks only. If Abigail had been born plain, Sophia would not have been surprised if the Earl of Mattensworth had sent her to work in the kitchens with the servants. However, Abigail took her Father's love for her looks in her small stride. She often wondered at the occasional titled gentleman who came to their manor and left riding hard. Most of them were never seen again, with the exception of the elderly duke who came and then preceded to become the town's drunk.  
  
Abigail confided in both her handmaiden and Sophia about these men. Sophia, who hears many interesting things due to evenings eavesdropping by her Mother's drawing room while guests are over, had a vague idea that these men all came to Mattensworth with an interest in Abigail.  
  
The subject of Sophia's gaze was jabbing her chair back with her embroidery needle in frustration. Abigail glanced at her friends and smiled wryly, shrugging.

Abigail had wavy brunette hair with auburn highlights. Her shapely figure caused her friend at times to seethe with jealousy that was quickly eaten up at her amazement of her friend's lack of vanity. A generous bosom with wide hips caused cruel remarks from those noble women in the area who did not know her well.  
  
Abigail's small and naturally pink lips were framed with dimples. Her nose was finely shaped, longish and narrow. Arched eyebrows above her extraordinary eyes. Dark, thick eyelashes that were so long she could balance five embroidery threads on each set of lashes. Her eyes were large and the colour of lavender, changing to gave away any emotion she endured.  
  
"Imagine that we could be married off at any minute. To some old friend of our father's who is rich and titled, of course." Sophia said with a sigh. "But there're many handsome, young, titled, and wealthy men about who would long to marry one of us." Abigail smiled and said,  
  
"You, will never have any trouble finding a man who is young, handsome, titled, and wealthy. The men flock about you like ants to a dollop of jam on the ground. With your beauty and charm, how can any man dislike you?" Sophia laughed.  
  
"What a simply awful analogy. Ants! Although, "Sophia smiled coyly, "I may as sweet as jam!" The two girls broke into giggles at the lame jest. The girls heard a scratching at the door and Keosha went to open it, walking slowly so as to gain time to wards her and her friends' composure. When she finally opened the door a servant maid stood there wringing her hands in agitation. Bobbing a curtsey, the maid began,  
  
"Beggin' your pardon milady, his grace demands your presence in his drawing room. And mistress," the maid added, "He looks none too happy." Abigail quickly rose and said,  
  
"Thank you Terry, I'll come directly." The locally born maid nodded and closed the door. Sophia glanced at her friend. Abigail's eyes showed her worry and surprise. The Earl of Mattensworth hardly ever summoned his daughter, and the maid's agitation worried Sophia. Abigail noticed her friend's worry and said,"Why don't you wait here, I'm sure Father isn't all that angry, Sophia. I will not be long, and when this is through, I'll come up here and tell you what happened, hmm?" Sophia laughed at Abigail's constant consideration for others.  
"I will stay, Abs." The nursery nickname made Abigail smile as they squeezed each other's hands.  
"Good luck, Miss Abby." Keosha added her support. For one who had almost fired for refusing his attentions, Keosha knew how pressuring and intimidating he could be. Neither of the younger noblewomen knew about this experience, so Keosha could not say anything clearer. Abby walked out of the drawing room and down one of the many corridors in the Mattensworth manor, down one of the many flights of stairs to her Father's drawing room. Abigail knocked softly and was answered with an angry, "Who is it?"  
  
"'Tis I, Father, Abigail." The door was wrenched open by an angry Earl of Mattensworth.

Tall and muscular, the earl was handsome and cruel. His coal- black hair was long and tied back. His cold, blue eyes not calculating as usual, but angry and cutting. He reached out of the doorway and grasped Abigail's arm tightly, wrenching her into the room. The Earl poured himself another glass of brandy and sat down in a large armchair. Abigail stood in the middle of the room, her large, lavender eyes wide, and frightened.

The Earl of Mattensworth gulped down some brandy and stared moodily at his beautiful daughter. He leaned forward and glared at her. Abby was quivering inside, but knew that if she showed this fear, her Father would use it to his advantage. Abigail took a deep breath, took a long blink, and squared her shoulders. The Earl continued to glare at his daughter for a long and tedious two minutes. The Earl stood up and paced around his daughter.  
  
"I have sheltered you for many years. seventeen, or some such amount. You have been fortunate. Some girls your age are married two years. You have been to few balls and social functions and many gentlemen have noticed you. This is good, but not good enough." The Earl stated. "I have decided to marry you off. To whom, I do not know, but rest assured daughter, he will be titled and rich. Rich enough to give you you're every whim. You are not a child any longer, so I believe it is time to inform you of the duties of a wife to a nobleman. They are as follows." The Earl cleared his throat. He had never talked so much to his daughter before and he did not know how to address her. Or this situation. "Your foremost duty is to give your husband a son. Daughters are of little use, save to marry off. Do you know how a child is produced, girl?"  
  
The Earl seemed to have forgotten Abigail's name. Abigail did, in fact, know how this was done, but before she could say, 'yes, sir' or to nod her head, the Earl plunged on.  
  
"On you're wedding night, and not before, you and your husband will need to lay together. He will probably know what to do, so I needn't tell you. He will immensely enjoy himself. I have heard that it hurts women. I neither know nor care if it is so."  
  
Abigail was officially frightened. All she had known was that a man and woman lay together and that magically produced a babe. A man had never touched her, save when dancing, and the only time her Father had touched her was when he had pulled her into the room just then. Abby's soft mouth opened slightly and terror filled her eyes.  
  
The Earl suddenly realised just how lovely his daughter was. He inwardly smiled to himself as he reflected how lovely most women were when frightened. Marrying his daughter off was going to be interesting.

As for Abigail, she was terrified out of her wits. Any men she had danced with were either twice her age or were her servants. The Earl rose and tilted his daughter's chin so he could clearly see her face. 'This, is the type of girl I would lay with, were she common.' He thought to himself. 'How would she do in bed,' He wondered. The Earl amused himself with thoughts of him pulling his daughter into his bedchamber, stripping her and stealing away her virginity. 'She would probably be the modest type. Keeping the covers over her body. Although, she has a glint in her eye that is not wholly genteel. If she does not attract any good suitors, I shall keep her for myself. In the meantime,' The Earl brushed away his perverted thoughts and let go of Abigail's chin and said,  
  
"You will prepare yourself to move into the King's palace. You may bring three maidservants. Be ready tomorrow morning at seven of the clock." With this the Earl waved his hand at the door, and Abigail fled to her room, tears streaming down her face like a waterfall.

Abby flung open her drawing room door. She ran right past Sophia and Keosha who were staring at her. Abigail ran to the door of her room and flung herself onto her bed to cry. She sobbed quietly, her small frame shivering and shaking. A few minutes later, when she had calmed, Keosha came in with a basin of hot water and a wash cloth. She sat down on the bed beside Abigail and smoothed the hair from Abby's face. Abigail sighed and sniffed as Keosha bathed forehead with the water. When she was thoroughly calmed, Keosha asked softly,  
  
"Will you tell us what he said?"  
  
Without Abigail's noticing, Sophia had sat down one her other side. Abigail sat up and poured out her story, how he father had decided it was time for her to marry, how he had informed her that it was her duty to bear her husband a son, and not a daughter, which were worthless. She would be leaving to live at court. Then she continued in her sobbing.  
  
Over her head, Keosha and Sophia exchanged worried glances. If her Father was sending Abigail to court to attract noblemen, she had a very good chance of losing her virginity to some nobleman who wanted a one-night standing. With Abigail's beauty and innocence, she could easily become a target for men who weren't at all interested in marrying her. Keosha patted Abigail on the back and said,  
  
"There, there Abby. It won't be all that bad, you know. I have a cousin who works as her highness's handmaiden, and she sasy court isn't so terrible. We'll start packing your trunks right now." Keosha stood and stretched. 

Sophia sighed at the though of losing her friend whom she had known since birth. Now Abby was going to King James's court to be goggled and ogled by the handsome noblemen. Sophia inwardly frowned at her self-preoccupation, stifled her disappointment and said comfortingly,  
  
"Well, I will envy you, Abby. Handsome noblemen all 'round, and great feasts every day, practically. Silken sheets on your bed and roaring fires all about. You'll make so many friends that you'll forget me." Abigail blew her nose noisily into her embroidered handkerchief and smiled.  
  
"How could I ever forget you, Sophie? I'll write you every day, or at least when something funny or interesting happens. I'll miss you so." The two friends hugged and sniffed. Sophia took her leave a few minutes later and Abigail began to help Keosha with her own things.

Abby ate in her room that night, and mulled over that day's events.

* * *

Ok, this is my revision of chapter one....ummm, I realise that it ends awkwardly, but...yah. New reviewers are always welcomed and replied to....so please tell me what you think....thanks,

Vende


	2. Encounters

**Chapter 2- Encounters**

* * *

After she had eaten, Abigail went to pray to the gods for guidance and wisdom in her plight. 

Abby pulled on her cloak and climbed out of her three-storey window. Being an Arulanthian nobleman's daughter, looked after by strict traditional governesses, the Earl's daughter was not even allowed to ride her gentle mare alone.

However, Abby knew and was capable of far more than most could imagine. Behind her Father's and her nursemaids' and tutor's backs and with the help of one of the few nice maids, Terry, she had learnt sparse amounts of archery and some domestic arts, such as cooking and cleaning. Abigail was even an accomplished seamstress and had sewn some of her gowns. With the help of Keosha and a few sheets filched by Terry, Abby managed to use her window as a means of exit, unbeknownst to her father.

Hidden by cover of darkness, Abigail walked silently to the Abbey of Remaneen.

Remaneen was one half of the Immortal Deities. She and her husband, the celestial Solaro, co-ruled all the Known Lands. She was a goddess of mercy and indemnity. She gave those who worshipped her peace of mind to either accept their lot or to be calm in opposing it. She often gave opportunities to people and usually the words to speak so people would listen. Abigail planned to pray to Remaneen for guidance and calm. Hopefully, Remaneen would smile on her.  
  
Knowing that her Father would be in his study or his library for only an hour longer, the young noblewoman had hurried to the sacred building.

Abigail arrived at the abbey in plenty of time. Taking off her shoes, (temples are built on holy ground, purified by the Two themselves) Abigail made her way past the guards of the temple and into the building.

The moment she stepped into the temple, Abby felt the awesome power that was the consecrated ground of Remaneen. Kneeling at the altar, Abigail prayed furiously but humbly to Remaneen. _'Oh, goddess of wisdom. Please, oh; please give me some of your peace to accept my lot! I need to get through this! Help me, goddess! Please!'_ Abigail began to cry silently and let her worries pour out to Remaneen. _'How could he do this? To be sent to court, away form my friends and the people I'd grown up beside is so, so cruel! Oh, goddess Remaneen, majesty, give me wisdom and peace in my lot. I've got a feeling that I'll need it!'_ As she ended her prayer, a blanket of calm spread upon Abigail. Abby suddenly felt confident that Remaneen would help her.  
  
"Thank you," Abigail whispered the goddess. A breath of wind rustled her cloaked head and Abigail smiled. Although Remaneen was only a shadow of the Mother, it was in her name that most prayed. Asking the Mother directly was rarely done. But it was done...Abigail decided to try the Mother.

Getting up, Abigail walked out of the Temple part of the Abbey and past the guards toward the more impressive temple of the Mother Goddess.  
  
A cobble-stoned walkway with women guards every ten feet armed with spears and poniards. These women knew how to use their weapons, they were chosen by the high Priestess of the Goddess Herself at birth and were raised, saturated in the Goddess's holiness. They were there to keep any men from touching the consecrated soil the temple was built on, though men with a written letter from Solaro's High Priest himself could sometimes enter a temple.

A priestess on either side of the beginning of the petal- strewn walkway studied Abby for a moment before admitting her. The nervous young woman walked down the walkway towards the entrance of the temple. The guards watched Abby as she passed them.  
  
Finally, Abigail reached the pillars marking the open-air part of the temple. Rose bushes everywhere, crawling roses, mini roses, red, yellow, pink, white roses all over the place. The rose was the flower sacred the Mother goddess. A statue of the Mother stood at the end of the aisle.

The columns were of marble as was the bowl for burning incense that was placed infront of the statue of the Goddess.

Abigail placed the petals of the red roses in her garden in the incense bowl and placed her own sticks of expensive incense in with the petals. As she lit the incense, Abigail bent over and inhaled the beautiful scent.

She rose and walked slowing back into the indoor temple. Kneeling behind one of the many marble kneeling-bars, Abigail asked for the goddess's blessing on her trip. She asked for her Father to reconsider sending her away. Abigail felt the Goddess's blessing. Aloud she raised yet another plea;

"Goddess, Mother of All, please, oh Queen, keep me from leaving my home!"

She felt her answer to her final plea. In a voice that was centuries old, a voice that sounded of the hounds and the terrible, yet awesome power of winds, the answer to her plea was a clear and firm,  
  
"_**No**_."

* * *

Abigail shuddered at the realisation that The Great Mother Goddess was talking to her. She swallowed and tried to accept the Goddess's decision. The Two would not prevent her journey to Court...to an arranged husband. She bit her lip to keep from cursing as she bowed in 'submission and acceptance'. The young noblewoman pursed her lips as she passed the priestesses and the guards, angry that the women were probably able to deduce the outcome of her visit. 

Making her way home, Abigail was too deep in thought when she bumped into another person, also deep in thought. The result was for both parties to say 'oh!'

The person Abby had bumped into was a tall, dark, handsome fellow. Though dressed in cotton breaches and a cotton shirt, the man's cloths were obviously of good quality. Abigail curtsied and said in a slightly muffled voice,  
  
"Pardon me, sir." The man was obviously of true noble birth for he replied in a gentle voice,  
  
"'Twas my fault, gentle lady. For I did not see you walking there. May I safely assume that you are unharmed? Might I also have the pleasure of your name?" Abigail knew the man was trying to see her face, so she tilted her face downwards, to look at her shoes. Abigail did not want talk to get out that she roved the countryside alone, so she replied softly,  
  
"I am no lady, sir. A girl from the village who was not paying attention, milord. And I am well." In dismay Abby realised that her speech was ample proof of a genteel upbringing. Surveying him through her lashes, Abby knew that this unknown man had realised it too. He seemed to be trying to figure out why she was lying about her upbringing. He reached out as if to place a hand on her arm, but did not, for one did not touch another noble. He stopped and told her,  
  
"I know not why you lie, lady, for you are of gentle breeding, not of common birth. Your speech reveals you. Why are you out alone on the road?"  
  
"I lie for the fact that a noble woman should not be wandering alone." Abigail glanced up at this unknown. "You have not told me your name, sir." The man laughed,

"Nor have you. But my name is Sir Marcus DeBracey. And yours, gentle lady?" a lock of brunette hair fell forward from under her hooded head. A gentle hand reached foreward and brushed it back.

Abigail looked up, startled, and Sir Marcus DeBracey used her surprise to catch and hold her chin up to the moonlight. Abigail flushed and tried to look down again, but his grip was firm. Abigail decided not to look down any more, he may think her ashamed of herself. She brushed his hand away and flushed again when their hands touched.

He was still staring at her and Abigail mentally rolled her eyes, discarded her pathetic alias, and gave him look for look. He had longish chocolate brown hair that if it hadn't been tied in a horsetail brushed his broad shoulders in waves. Thick eyebrows over lively greenish brown eyes, which were subtly framed with long eyelashes. His nose was as narrow as her own nose, though it had a fleshier tip, and he too had a dimple, though she almost didn't notice it.

Abigail stared at him; she had never seen his equal in masculine beauty!

* * *

Sir Marcus DeBracey had been thinking of Lady Jeanine, the woman all supposed he would marry. Oh, she was a beautiful one to be sure. And kind to her servants, soft-spoken, fragile. And wealthy, something every man wants in a wife. But something was lacking, something important. What was it? Physical things perhaps, but no, blonde hair, deep drown eyes, tall, shapely, lovely voice, wonderful dancer, what as it? Morals, perhaps? Still no, prayed to the Two, never looked at another man, what could it be? She was clever as well; Lady Jeanine could read and write with eloquence, so it wasn't lack of intelligence.  
  
Around then, he had bumped into a young woman who had also been walking, distracted along the road. Sir Marcus was curious at why she was lying about her birth, and yet she gave him no answers. He tried again,  
  
"Perhaps you would be so kind as to give my your name, gentle lady." The young noblewoman bit her lip and said,  
  
"Would it matter much if I did not give you my name?" Marcus frowned,  
  
"Why are you so reluctant to give me your name, lady?" The unknown noblewoman sighed and told him in a resigned voice,  
  
"If you truly must know, I am Lady Abigail, daughter of the Earl of Mattensworth. I was returning from the Temples when I so rudely bumped into you. Forgive me, Sir DeBracey." The knight was frowning. Had not this young lady any sense at all? The Earl of Mattensworth was renowned for his intelligence (techinically his cunning, but the young noble brushed that aside); surely some would have been passed to his daughter.

He had heard a story not so long ago, a friend had assured him that she had, without her Father's knowing, dismissed the scribe who wrote her Father's letters because the scribe had been employed by one of her Father's adversaries, there to see her father's business moves. How she knew, his friend could not say.

Even so, no respectable woman would wander the road alone, 'twould be unthinkable! 'This girl is lying!' He thought angrily. Sir Marcus reached out regardless off etiquette, and gripped her arm, hard and said,  
  
"No more nonsense, wench! Do not lie to me! Why are you telling me you are Lady Abigail? Who are you really?" With this last sentence, Sir Marcus shook her slightly. The girl gasped and said,  
  
"I am Lady Abigail! What rights have you to doubt me?" The impostor's voice was angry, 'Upset that I have thwarted her scheme,' Thought Sir Marcus. Sir Marcus glared at her and sneered,  
  
"Alright, 'Lady Abigail', we shall go to your 'home' and see if anyone can collaborate your story." With that, He pulled her along the deserted road towards the Mattensworth Manor.  
  
"It does not bother me that you are 'escorting' me home, sir." That unsettled Sir Marcus. If she was what he though she was, she should be worried. They reached the gate and the wench stopped,  
"Are you sure you want to do this?" Sir Marcus frowned,  
  
"Why wouldn't I be sure?"  
  
"I snuck out to the Temples because my Father does not worship our gods!" When Sir Marcus glared, she continued, "He does not believe they have any hold on him. I could not ask for anyone to accompany me because they would either tell my Father or fail to conceal our visit. Please Sir, do not talk to my Father." At the end of this, there were tears in her eyes and Sir Marcus, although he did not fully believe her, took pity on her and spoke gentler to her.  
"Is there any way you can get into the house to find someone the verify your identity without your Father knowing?" The girl nodded and motioned for him to follow her.

With Sir Marcus DeBracey following closely behind, the girl crept up to the house and peered into one of the many windows. Sir Marcus did likewise. Through the window, they saw the Earl of Mattensworth sitting in a chair, drinking brandy while reading.  
  
The girl smiled and walked around the house to the eastern side. Taking up a rock, she threw it skilfully at one of the windows. A moment later a rope ladder was thrown down to the ground. In the dim moonlight, Sir Marcus could see a girl in a maid's uniform climbing down. When she had reached the ground she placed her hands on her hips and glared at the young woman,  
  
"Abby! What are you doing out here? And whose that?" The maid motioned to Sir Marcus. Lady Abigail turned to him,  
  
"Is this enough proof for you, Sir DeBracey?" Lady Abigail asked. The knight bowed and said,  
  
"Forgive my doubting your word, Lady Abigail." He turned to the maid; "I thank you for clearing a misunderstanding up." His tone indicated a note of dismissal, but the maid turned the Lady Abigail and only at her nod curtsied and began climbing again. Sir Marcus waited until she was in the window before turning to Lady Abigail and saying humbly,  
  
"I'm afraid I've been a fool, milady." A small smile perched on his lips and Abigail smiled,  
  
"We all make mistakes Sir DeBracey. It was partly my fault." Her beauty had stunned Sir DeBracey when he had first met her and with her smile, he felt suddenly breathless, looking deep into her lavender eyes.

He forgot about his parents, his friends, the courtiers, and Lady Jeanine, and leaned down towards Lady Abigail. Placing one hand around her waist and the other tilted her chin gently upwards, he leaned down and kissed her.

Lady Abigail trembled and blushed. She had not pushed away so he leaned down again, and kissed her harder this time. When they pulled apart, Abby looked at him and flushed an even deeper pink.  
  
"You do not even know me, sir." She whispered. Sir Marcus smiled at her and said,  
  
"I realise that, but your beauty...your eyes, you overwhealmed me. I have not heard that you were a famed beauty, Lady. And, do call me Marcus, please." Abigail smiled with pleasure and looked down. Marcus continued,  
  
"Before I leave, may I ask why you do not grace King James's Court? Actually, upon reflection, I don't want to know, for you were there, all the noble men would be begging to dance with you. Furthermore, they would pay just to gaze upon you. No, I am glad I have seen the most beautiful woman in the entire world before King James himself." Marcus placed the hand that was not upon her waist at the back of her head and kissed her gently once more.

He drew back Abigail's hood and gazed upon her fully. What creamy skin! What beautiful eyes! He had never seen such lovely eyes! And her lips, so full, and warm, and inviting! 'Stop this, Marcus! Stop right now! Leave! This isn't right, she probably thinks you intimidating; leave her be!,' Urged his conscience.

As Marcus gazed into the lavender depth that were her eyes, he thought, 'I'll never marry Jeanine now, I couldn't!'

"I must leave, you..." He gazed searchingly at her; "Do you hate me?" The surprise in her eyes was all he needed, but she answered,  
  
"For what, Sir, I mean Marcus?" He smiled in relief and said,  
  
"For kissing you without knowing you long." Abigail smiled and said,  
  
"Believe me Marcus," She stopped and then said, "Before I go on, it is _too_ uncomfortable, so I shall call you Sir Marcus." She faltered before continuing, "anyway, if after the shock of the first kiss was over, if I wanted to I could have pushed you away. However..." Abby stopped again and flushed, "However, I, er, enjoyed it when you kissed me." Abigail swallowed.

Marcus smiled and then whispered,"Then, before I leave, may I?" Abby flushed a cherry pink and said,

"If you feel that you want to." Marcus smiled down at her and said ever so softly, "It isn't that I simply want to, it is that I need to." With that he planted a firm and long kiss on her mouth and held her hand for a moment before walking quickly away. 


	3. The Earl's Warning

Thank you to my one and only *tear* reviewer, Kaio!!!!! Luv ya much! (kidding)  
  
Chapter One: say what? Plans for what, I'm sorry, I haven't had any sugar or caffeine for a while, so my sense of understanding is at a minimum.  
  
Chapter Two: Yeah, we wouldn't want him to think that, would we? Meh, we'll see.  
  
Everyone else who hasn't bothered to review: I'm shocked and ashamed. But I still love you all. Please review (. And I'm sorry that this chapter (which is so short that it doesn't deserve to be called a chapter) is so short, you have my not-so humble apologies. And now...  
  
Abigail leaned heavily against the house and watched him walk away. Such excitement boiled in her veins that she felt like jumping up and down and singing forever! However, the more practical part of her took over and she felt a sudden drop in her spirits. What if I never see him again? What if he forgets about me? Abigail climbed up to her room and hauled in the rope ladder before closing the window. I'll be leaving for court in the morning, and I shall never see him again. Sighing sadly, Abigail undressed, put on her nightgown and climbed into bed.  
  
The next morn, at half after five, Keosha awoke a drowsy Abigail. While shaking her gently, Keosha briskly told her mistress,  
  
"Lady 'tis time to get up and dressed. We leave for Lenicks at seven." Abigail got up and wiped her face with the cloth in the washbowl. A warm bath awaited her in the bathroom and Abigail gladly took advantage of it. Feeling refreshed, Abigail allowed Keosha to dress her in her travelling habit. A maid at the door delivered a tray with food to break the fast. As Abigail sipped her tea and chewed her toast she watched Keosha pray to her Manisanrin gods.  
  
Keosha, with her dark skin and graceful composure could not be mistaken for anything but a dark skinned and usually abrupt Manisanrin from the island of Turisan. The noble Manikankins treated their slaves with such brutality that those who could manage it, ran away. Keosha herself was a run-away- slave. As Keosha finished her ritual, Abigail put on her cloak with a sigh. Quietly she slipped out the doorway. Abigail wanted to say good-bye to all her favourite places. Before she could close the door behind her, it was wrenched open again. Keosha raised and eyebrow and scolded,  
  
" Now, Miz Abby, we be goin' soon. This is not the time to be a wanderin' off. You jest come back in here, we almost ready to go!" And with that, Keosha pulled Abigail into the room and handed her Abigail's handbag. Abigail noticed that her normally light handbag was unusually heavy. Opening it, she found two rolls, a thick slice of ham, a slice of thick, creamy, white cheese, a glass bottle of rose-scented lotion, a glass bottle of rose water, and the novel Abby had been reading. Abigail glanced up at Keosha who was lugging their bags to the door for the awaiting footman, and said in plaintive tone,  
  
"Why must this all go in my handbag, Keosha? Surely there is another bag." Keosha glared at her mistress-friend.  
  
"You want to know why, missy? Because I puts it in there for you tah' see what we servant need tah' carry 'round with us anytime we go any where with you. Not tah' mention any otha' stuff you be needin'."  
  
"Oh." Abigail turned a bright red and mumbled an apology. Keosha just shrugged and they walked out of the room, Abby, still red- faced and Keosha muttering under her breath. When they reached the entranceway, The Earl was waiting. The Earl raised an eyebrow over Abigail's still somewhat pink and embarrassed looking face, but made no mention of it. He motioned for the footman and Keosha to go out to the carriage and they obeyed. The Earl looked at his daughter.  
  
"You shall need to be on your guard. Men like to take advantage of any relatively pretty girl they see, you must be aloof to all but the richest." The Earl paused, "Do not fail me, wench." The last sentence was said in a hard voice that left Abby quivering inside. The Earl turned crisply on his heel and walked away, leaving Abby to ponder his words. She didn't have much time, and soon she was in the carriage, gazing at the rolling hills that surrounded Mattensworth. 


	4. Lenicks Marketplace

Chapter Four: Lenicks Marketplace

The ride to the nation's capital was long and tiring. Abigail was exhausted when they finally arrived. But not even exhaustion could lessen her awe at the splendour of the city. They rode through the market place, the dazzling colours almost hurt Abby's weary eyes and the sight of so many strange peoples gave her a start. She had not thought of how many different peoples lived, travelled or visited the city.  
  
The vendors displayed their wears in loud, sharp voices that mingled and mixed, causing the sharp pains that announced the beginnings of a headache to make themselves known to the new arrivals. There were jewellery, cheese, wine, bread, fine cloths, silks, and many other stands crowding the streets.

The people that admired the merchandise breathed in the deep, heady perfume scents or the perfumists and caressed the soft, filmy laces and the rich velvets of the cloth mongers.

As Abby watched, a young woman bargained with a grain merchant, her small boy hanging about her knees; An old pot-bellied man shouted at the small children who ran through his stall, playing a game of tag; An elderly noble held his handkerchief up to his aristocratic nose and urged his horse forwards. A prostitute with jangling jewellery smiled sensuously from the brothel's window, attracting attention from a few young men (and a few older ones aswell).

A short, plump woman waved her hand over the trays of pastries, catching people's eyes. The smell from the fresh treats made Abigail's mouth water before the crowd separated the stall from her view.

A young man with honey coloured hair jumped towards the carriage and hung on to the golden bars that helped their luggage stay atop. He leaned in a grinned at them, showing a small ruby in place of one of his front teeth. He chuckled at Keosha's gasp and climbed in.  
  
"'Allo, 'allo! 'Ow are ya?" His county accent mixed with a rather loud voice made a grating enough voice for Abby wince as she opened her handbag and drew out her purse.  
  
"If you are looking for money, this is all I have." She said, holding out the small handful of coins. The man cocked an eyebrow and inspected the handful.  
  
"Not much, is it, eh?" He sniffed, "Hmm, rose scented 'and cream, rose scented powder, rose petals strewn about in drawers, dried roses in yar bag. Though praps', lavender would go better with y'ons' eyes." He said, producing a bunch of fresh lavender from his person and presenting it to Abby. She accepted it with a small smile.  
  
"Ya shouldn't offer money to people ya don' know. No, Ah'm more into the big stuff meself," the man said waving away her handful of coins. "Ah make it a rule to no' ever accept offered money. Takes away from th' thrill, eh." The man sat up in a weaver's pose and studied Abby's face intently, then he turned around and did the same to Keosha.  
  
"Y'ons be Natalia's cousin, Keosha. I heard ye were commin' ta the court. Natalia will be pleased. And y'all," he turned to Abby. "Ye are The Earl of Mattensworth's daughter, Abigail. Many people at court 'ave been jabbering' about ya. One o' my friends in particular, poor man, though 'es not at Court or even in the city now. Quite the beauty ye is." The young maid finally found her tongue and Keosha snapped,  
  
"And she is too, so it isn't 'jab' at all. And if you are who you say you are, even though you didn't say in particular who exactly is it you are, then you had better keep your over-sized mouth shut."  
  
"'kay! Now if Ah may ask ye ladies to keep quiet 'till we get to where Ah want to go, it would be most delightful." He grinned again and Abby, for no reason whatsoever, felt suddenly at ease with this strange man. She smiled and said quietly,  
  
"We shall tell no one of your presence here, good sir, If you will but tell us your name." the man winked and said slyly,  
  
"Ah, but that'd be telling." When Abby raised an eyebrow, he continued, seeming little contrite, "Me name be Bram Miller, an' Ah be goin' now, me ladies." With that he swung out of the carriage and into the crowds of people. Abby leaned out of the window to watch him, but she soon lost sight of him.


	5. Arrival

**Chapter Five: Arrival**

Keosha jerked Abby back into the carriage. She shook a slender finger at her before saying in a cautionary voice,

"There are far too many bad men about here, Abby. You'd better pray." Abigail frowned, confused,

"Pray?" Her maid nodded as she took up her cross-stitching once again, " You'd better be praying for my cousin. If she's involved with that mangy dog, she's got another thing coming!" Abigail hid a smile as she resumed her people-watching from the slow moving carriage.

The Mattensworth carriage rolled through the gates between two tall, stone towers, which loomed in the gathering dark. The couchman reined in the four horses pulling the carriage and they slowed. The sky cracked and boomed with thunder as the footmen opened the carriage door for the two women.

Abby gazed up at the tall, dark castle that seemed to forbid her entry. She shivered and pulled her thick cloak closer to her small frame as she allowed herself to be helped out of the carriage. Keosha followed, muttering in Manisanran as she went.

The footmen led Abigail and Keosha about ten feet from the large, wooden doors, where he motioned for them to wait. In silence they nodded and the footman turned and walked up to the door and knocked. Quickly, they were swept open and the footman skilfully jumped out of the way (so as not to be clobbered by the fast-opening doors).

The interior of the castle was vastly different than the outside. The hall that the footman led them into was warm and brightly lit. The heels of Abby's boots clicked on the stone floors and refused to echo on the tapestry- covered walls. The torches in their brackets burned brightly and the maids that cleaned stopped to bob a respectful curtsey to the noblewoman.

Abby's feelings of mistrust and unwelcome were as non-existent as the echoes as the footman led them to a small ante-chamber. A man in a long green robe sat behind a table, sipping wine and slowly chewing whole- grained bread. He looked up and quickly stood, a warm smile lighting up his features.

"Welcome to Mantol, and let me extend welcome to the royal castle! We are most grateful to have you join our court, Lady Abigail. You are Lady Abigail, yes?" She smiled and nodded, too tired to do much else. The man smacked his forehead lightly and said in an apologetic tone,

"Where are my manners? To keep you standing and cold, please sit, and refresh yourself, my man, Gorison will get you some, ah, wine, perhaps?" Keosha bobbed a curtsey and said politely,

"My mistress doesn't take wine, tea would be better, if you don't mind, Sir." The man looked startled, but smiled at Keosha in genuine appreciativeness. He nodded to the man who had been waiting at the doorway and he opened the door and left. The 'thunk' of the wooden door startled Abby and she unstuck her throat enough to say,  
" I thank you, sir, but I've no notion of who you are and I feel rather ignorant." The man looked startled yet again and said in a sad tone,

"My dear, the King is right, I am growing more remiss in my duties. I am often forgetting that while I am well informed, others are not so. The many times people have said varying version of what you've just said is appalling, and their hardly as polite as you were just now, Lady Abigail. Would you prefer Lady Abigail or Lady Abby? I rather find that Abigail is a nice name, but Abby sounds ever so much more, ah, what's the word, oh dear, ah, yes, impish or mischievous, but my tongue is running away again and I've probably just insulted you, how careless of me, the King's patience for my wanderings is waning, I'll loose my job before long. Now my dear here is your tea," Gorison had come unnoticed into the room and he handed Abby her tea off a small tray.

"Cream, honey, milady?" The young man smiled encouragingly at the young noblewoman who nodded and said quietly,

"Both, please." The young man seemed surprised at her manners towards him, a servant, but nodded and gave her the requested ingredients. Abby stirring in the honey and cream before sipping hesitantly. She was surprised at the taste, a mixture of apples and the honey she had added. The green robed man smiled at her pleasure and said kindly,

"Perhaps you would like to go to your rooms and rest the night before exploring the castle, mmm?" Abigail nodded and she stood, placing her cup on the table. The noble continued,

" It may take a while to book an audience with his Majesty. I shall try for less than a week, but you must be patient, my dear." Abby nodded wearily.

Gorison opened the door and led them out. They had gone only a few feet before Keosha and Abby heard the man calling out to them. Turning the young noblewoman saw the man flick back a lock of shoulder- length grey hair and say in a kind, fatherly voice,

"If you should be in need of assistance, come and talk to me. Gorison will know where I am. Good night, Lady Abigail, good night." The man nodded in true respect to Keosha, a silent 'good night'. Keosha nodded back, too concerned to think too much on this startlingly considerate, seemingly nameless noble.

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Reposted with Editted parts on August 10th, 2oo5 


	6. An Outburst

Bah! I'm sooooo sorry, I broke my promise, chrischelle, I didn't thank you last chapter (, I'm soooooooooooooooooooooo sorry. And a-HEM! Thank you, thank you, thank you, thank you, thank you, thank you, thank you, thank you, thank you, thank you, thank you, thank you, thank you, thank you, thank you, thank you, thank you, thank you, thank you, thank you, thank you, thank you, thank you, thank you, thank you, thank you, thank you, thank you, thank you, thank you, thank you, thank you, thank you, thank you, thank you, thank you, thank you, thank you, thank you, thank you, thank you, thank you, thank you, thank you, thank you, thank you, thank you, thank you, thank you, thank you, thank you, thank you, thank you, thank you, thank you, thank you, thank you, thank you, thank you, thank you, thank you, thank you, thank you, thank you, thank you, thank you, thank you, thank you, thank you, thank you. You are the second person to review. Thank you for crying on by behalf!!! * Hands you a handkerchief and pats you consolingly on the shoulder*  
  
My Thanks to Kaio, my faithful reviewer who has thus far been with me through THICK and thin. And yup, Bram is interesting...can you spell trouble? Mysterious... didn't think of it like that. But if you think so, that's good, very good.  
  
Anyway, I thank my silent readers who obviously have had their fingers amputated or else they would review! It's alright, I pity you and I'm sure that in time you will learn to type using a pencil in you mouth ;) I have faith in you all. Now, on with the sho..... Oh OH! Yes, this (the plot, characters, and places) ALL belong to ME (aren't you all jealous)! Ahem, NOW on with the show!!!  
  
Another reviewer!!!! *dances around in glee* Ahahahaha, showed you nonreviewers. Mwahahahaha. 'kay enough evil laughter. Thank you, chrischelle, and I accept your offer of a cookie. *mouth waters before she brushes it away* I'm hoping that it won't be short, but I've been told that my chapters were too loooooooooong. So, I guess it's my call, but personally, I like longer chapters, gives more substance.   
  
Abby and Keosha sat on the large bed that would be Abby's as the servant plaited her friend and mistress' brunette hair. Abigail was reading a letter that Sophia had written and given to Keosha to stow in Abby's trunks. She smiled at Sophia's attempt at anger towards her friend. Sophia was truly happy for Abby and the noblewoman knew it. She finished the letter, folded again, and held it up to her nose, breathing in the soft scent that was barely there. Sophia's scent. The letter smelt of the new cosmetics that were circling the country nobles, cow's udder cream and dandelion oil.  
  
Keosha finished with Abby's hair and turned so Abby could return the favour. She noblewoman also turned and brushed Keosha's soft black hair. The black girl relaxed for the first time since Abigail had been called into her Father's drawing room. Her worries over the carriage ride to the capital and getting settled in the palace were brushed out and away along with her stray hairs. Abby plaited her hair slowing and loosely. Keosha sighed and stopped her. She half turned her body and observed Abby's apologetic face. Usually Abby plaited quickly and tightly, using the talent that Keosha had taught her well. But today she was unlike herself.  
  
Abigail never got sick or developed a headache while riding her horse or in long carriage rides. She was hardly ever fatigued after a journey, she never had honey in her tea, and she always plaited quickly and tightly. Now she had a small smile on her face as her friend plaited her own hair. Keosha raised an eyebrow at her. He friend's eyes were an aquamarine that she had never seen before and her cheeks were pink with embarrassment.  
  
"Now, what, or if I'm correct, who are you thinkin' about?" Abby looked startled before saying in a low tone,  
  
"I'm thinking of a tall, handsome nobleman, whose manners run away from him at times, and whose touch I still feel." Abby swung around to view her friend's face. Keosha had a startled look on her face as she repositioned the noblewoman's head. She kept her voice carefully neutral as she commented,  
  
"That sounded rather poetic, are you sure you've not come to join the Arulanthian Bardic School? I hear they've some openin's." Keosha finished her plait before plaiting her own hair. She continued cautiously,  
  
"Abby, you know it's unlikely you'll ever be seein' Sir DeBracey again, doncha? He's probably a remote lord, a travelling knight. You'll most likely find that any talk of him is bad, most dashin' young men aren't as wonderful as they seem in first light." Keosha watched as Abby's head tilted upwards in defiance. The auburn- haired girl's shoulders stiffened as she replied in a clipped tone.  
  
"You never even met him, Keosha, you've no right to make judgements about someone you don't know. I think he was a real nobleman, and if you choose to oppose me, I'll be forced to remind you that you are paid for you servitude and companionship, not for you advice or opinions." The girl's voice had gotten steadily angrier and more displeasured. There was a silence in the room. The silence that deafened the two girls consumed the room and Abigail turned on the bed to find her maid staring at her in disbelief. Abigail opened her mouth, desperate to explain, to apologise, or to plead for forgiveness. But Keosha held up her hand, stopping her. Abby's chest constricted and she felt the introduction to tears begin to prick her nose and her eyes. She bit her lips to abide by her friend's wish for silence and looked down, waiting.  
  
Keosha stood and walked away from the bed. The horror she had originally felt at Abby's pablum of vexation had faded and she felt the self- comforting glow of anger had taken its place. Keosha gripped the porcelain vase on the table and plucked a flower from it, holding it delicately in her hand. She examined it before ruthlessly crushing it in her fist. She whirled around to begin her tirade, but something stopped her. A tiny reminder of an old mistress, beating her orally for a mumbled comment tapped her on her mental shoulder, causing the pause. She looked down at the small, crumpled flower in her hand at tilted it so the juices dripped slowly off. Keosha lifted her eyes and met Abby's. The eyes that met hers were repentant and horrified. The disgust she evidently felt at her own words was shining in her now blue- hued eyes. Keosha sat on the bed beside her, and said slowly,  
  
"You did not mean what you said, I know this. It would go completely against your character to say such a thing and truly mean it." Keosha lifted her dark eyes to her friend's and she watched as tears filled Abby's eyes. She watched until her own vision began to blur with tears of pain and relief. Her friend did not mean it. Abby had always looked upon her serving woman as a friend, rather than a maid. She was sweeter than most nobles, Keosha knew. This one outburst came not from true anger, but rather frustration at her predicament. She had met a seemingly wondrous man, only to be whisked away on a long journey, dazzled by the market place, pushed onward to the castle, met by a nameless man, then had the man she romanticised about insulted and doubted. Keosha mentally shrugged before continuing,  
  
"You knew that you probably wouldn't see him again." Abby nodded and said in a wobbly voice,  
  
"Yes, but to have it put in such terms as you did, it made me feel worse by ten fold. I can't believe what I said to you. It was unforgivable," There was a tiny pause before she continued, "You'll probably forgive me, in fact it seems as if you already have, but I know you'll never forget. How could you? I feel worse than awful, I feel like I just ripped out your still- beating heart and laid in out infront of you. I feel so disgusted with myself; it's like I oughtn't to be even speaking to you. I feel like the lowest ant, I can't even begin to make amends, Keosha."  
  
Her friend had been nodding through her apology; she took Abby's hands in hers and looked her in the eyes.  
  
"The bite of the tongue is often worse that that of a blade. Always remember that no matter how angry you are, ventin' your anger at someone who isn't the cause is askin' for trouble." Abby nodded and they sat awhile in their own thoughts. They sat there until Keosha quietly noticed the time, and bid her mistress-friends good evening. Keosha went to her adjoining room and fell asleep quickly, thinking only of her concern for her friend.  
  
Abby stayed up long into the night, gazing into the glowing fire, often brushing away tears. 


	7. A Shadow Named Yona

Chapter 7  
  
I realised that I've not yet put a disclaimer, which, for me is really a 'claimer'. I own ALL characters and places in this story. The idea of magic and such, which has not yet been too prominent, may be reminiscent of other stories by different authors, but I've not the patience to analyse and debate with myself which ones are in here. Suffice to say that while the characters are totally and wholly mine, the different ideas my not be.  
  
OH yes, I didn't receive any reviews for Chapter 6...*wipes tears away* so I just wanted you all to know that even if you don't like a chapter, say so, because I really want to know if ANYONE is reading my fic anymore. I would be most grateful. Now we've that settled:  
  
~~~~~~~~~  
  
A dark shadow separated itself from the other shadows that filled in the sides of the right tower coming into the castle as the Mattensworths' carriage rolled through the gates. The shadow made it's way through the neat lines of trees that bordered the road, carefully avoiding the all-too predictable patrols of guards that marched steadily through the line of trees parallel to the shadow- figure. The person dressed in black smiled to themselves, weaving through the less uniform lines of trees which turned into a true forest as the figure travelled towards their destination.  
  
The figure stopped and sniffed the air. Wood-smoke. From a campfire. Near, too near, and too far into the Royal Forest. The Royal Huntsmen would have caught... ' Who am I trying to fool, the Arulanthian Royal Huntsmen take their ale far more seriously then their duties,' the figure thought in disgust. The black shadow creeped towards the smell of the fire, keeping low and in shadow. The figure peered through the leaves and towards the glow of the fire. As the black- garbed person squinted towards the flames, they shook their head. ' Need to get closer.' The person blended with the shadows of a tall oak, not twenty feet from the fire. The figure plastered themselves to the trunk of the tree and manoeuvred their body to look at the scene infront of them.  
  
A circle of covered caravans surrounded a large, low fire. A long spit covered the diameter of the fire; the spit was being rotated with a glistening animal skewered onto it. The shadowed shape drew back as a young boy jumped out of the nearest caravan. The boy wore, as far as the watching figure could suppose, a loose white shirt with a brown felt vest overtop it. His breeches were loose and the tiny golden bells that tinkled softly from the ends of the braids in his hair confirmed any doubts of the boy's observer. The boy was a gypsy- child. He suddenly turned and stared into the darkness, directly at the shadow- figure. The person could see the boy's bright green eyes glint with curiosity, even in the dark forest.  
  
The boy broke into a smile and ran towards the inner ring of the circle. The figure bit their lip and cursed as they turned from the caravans, hoping to disappear into the trees. The stranger had not gone six feet suddenly there was a brightly, almost blinding to those used to the dark of the forest. The figure dove to the side, somehow trying to escape the light that seemed to be everywhere at once. The light dimmed to an acceptable level the figure found themselves staring at a young man, dressed much the same as the little boy, though the vest was a forest green. His long, deep brown hair brushed the back of his shoulders and the little boy's bells were there also, glinting along with the gold earrings in his ears.  
  
The man lent down and extended a leanly muscled arm to the person on the ground infront of him, holding in his other had a ball of white light. He smirked slightly and said in an accent that almost skipped his 'r's and extended his 's' sounds,  
  
"You might want to be getting' up. You've no need to fear me, but we wonder why a person is watching us. Come with me to the fire, warm yourself," The cornered figure's eyes darted towards any possibly escape routes, but the trees seemed to have grown together, twisting away any spaces large enough to squeeze through. The man's hand was still out as he looked where the person looked. He smiled yet again,  
  
"The trees welcome us here, they confuse those who would do us harm. You found us fine, so I'm assuming that you were just wondering of us, not intending harm." The black- clad person thought of their long dagger, easily accessible in their black leather boot. ' He doesn't seem insincere. Any amount of others could be hiding in the trees, waiting. If we wanted to kill me, he'd just blind me with the light or use gypsy- magic on me. Wouldn't take more than a second or so. I might as well trust him, at least as far as getting up. Wouldn't do any harm, I suppose, so long as I'm not here past twelve.' The figure reached for the extended arm and he pulled them to a standing position.  
  
"Come," The young man turned and walked toward the caravans. The figure hesitated before following. The young man stepped into the circle, pulling the person gently after him. The circle quieted and the visitor gazed around the circle at the gypsies that now surrounded them. Young people's curiosity was displayed on their faces; children hid their faces in their mothers' full skirts or gazed at them in awe. But the adults all wore secretive looks on their faces, from the pot- bellied men holding mugs to the women with grown children.  
  
"I bring a gershom, a guest. He, or she came freely and without a threat to us, so let us be so to them." The young man motioned the figure towards a caravan, where he rummaged for awhile before producing a hunk of seeded, brown bread. The people watched them for a while before returning to previous conversations, glancing only rarely and hardly at all at their visitor. The young man led the person to a secluded area and motioned someone towards them as the visitor began to eat slowly. The young boy the black- clad stranger had first seen stepped forward shyly and the young man said lightly,  
  
"My brother, he does not often speak, but when he does, I listen. Just a few candle- flickers ago he told me a black shadow moved in the trees, behind our fire- circle. I figured I ought to listen, so I gathered my light- ball and crept towards you. You move very fluidly. Smooth, like a cat. A panther, or very liken to one." The figure nodded and continued to eat, the bread was freshly baked and filling. The little boy reached towards the person and touched their masked cheek. The figure darted a look to the young man and he explained,  
  
"He wants to see you face." The person contemplated before shaking their head slowly, hoping they wouldn't offend their hosts. The little boy tapped his own lips and looked questioningly at the two before him,  
  
"I believe he is wondering if you are a mute. Do not take offence, my brother is young and has no etiquette." The guests' dubiety must have been evident because the young man's smile grew larger and he added, "Gypsies do have manners and etiquette, just not much of it. And it doesn't usually require being kind or polite to outsiders." The person nodded and continued to eat. The little boy tugged at the black shirt that the person wore and they looked up from their food.  
  
"He still wants to know if you're a mute." The dark-clad figure coughed and cleared their throat. They spoke is a rusty voice, in a throaty accent,  
  
"I am not a mute, I speak well, just not often." The little boy nodded as his brother said,  
  
"I am called Hershel, which means 'deer' in our language. He nodded towards his brother, "And he is called Mier, which means 'One who gives light'. He was called that because only after he was born was our caravan able to hold our Lights, or in your terms, our magic." The young boy, Meir, pointed at the stranger. Hershel translated,  
  
"Your name, he would have your name." The stranger wracked their brain, and said the first unisex gypsy name that they could find,  
  
"You may call me Yona." The name meant dove, peace. The gypsies would know then that the stranger meant no harm. The two nodded and the one who called themselves Yona eased to their feet.  
  
"I thank you for your hospitality," Hershel nodded and said,  
  
"Our caravan will be ever open to you and your kin, Yona masked one. We plan to stay in this forest until a fortnight has passed, we will then move to the outskirts of the city and do open business with the rest of the Arulanthians." Meir smiled and suddenly hugged Yona's knees. Yona's arms flailed and one grasped the covered cart they had lent up against as they ate. Yona patted the boy's head awkwardly and Meir let go. Nodding to Hershel, Yona slipped into the waiting darkness of the trees, relieved they let them go without any trouble. 


	8. A Letter and The Green Coterie

Ahahahahahahaha!!!!! A new reviewer!!!!! EEEEEEeeeeeee! Ahahahahahaha! I win. swoons in joy and rapture I thank you for reading my loverly, beeeeeea-utiful perfect (or close to) story!!!!! Ahahaha....alright, I'm done with the maniacal laughter.

Kylie: About that sequel idea...I'm liking it very, very much! Ah, I'm talking (typing, whatever) in exclamation marks...I always hate it when that happens, I seem too cheerful...wait, stay on topic. Yup, Marcus (or Sir DeBracey, as he would probably like to be called by us peasants) will be making an appearance soon, and Lady Jeanine too. And as for Abby's suitors, I wonder if she'll have any...  
  
A reminder that any words I use can be looked up on Fanfiction.net's dictionary page. This is excepting names and places.

* * *

**A knock** on the door woke the sleepy noblewoman. She rolled over on the soft bed and buried her face in the pillows. She heard the door open and muffled footsteps on the rug. Lazily she snuggled deeper into the covers and winced as the curtains were flung open with gusto, bathing her in bright morning light.  
  
"Up, get up, you need to meet the people today," Keosha walked over to the bed and tugged the thick covers off Abby, exposing the girl to the light. Abby cleared her throat slightly,  
  
"What people am I supposed to be meeting?" Keosha held up a finger for each group she named,  
  
"Well you need to meet the Fourth Ladies, the Third Ladies, the Second Ladies, the First Ladies, the Queen's Ladies and some other courtiers. You will be introduced to the King's Men, the First and Second Gentlemen and the new courtiers."  
  
"Oh, so not many. I can go back to sleep, then." With that, she plucked her covers out of Keosha's hands and cocooned herself in them. Her friend sighed with exasperation and kicked the bed, succeeding only in hurting her toe.  
  
"_Aaaaarrggg_! Flippin' bed. Gods above, that _hurt_!" Abby peeked over the tops of the covers and burst into laughter. Keosha, the normally composed and wise girl, was hopping on one foot, face as red as possible, muttering and presumably swearing in Manisanrin. She suddenly lost her already shaky balance and toppled onto the ground, shrieking loudly. Abby was overcome with laughter and snorted in the most unlady-like fashion imaginable. She only laughed harder, now at herself. Keosha had pulled herself into a sitting position on the ground and was surveying Abigail with intense displeasure.  
  
"I suppose you think that was mighty hilarious, doncha?" Abby could only laugh at the injured dignity displayed on her friend's face. Before she could look up again, Abby felt a swat on her arm and soon she and Keosha were wrestling on the ground, each trying to tickle or punch the other. Keosha won. It was inevitable, for Abby was laughing too hard to actually try. They lay at opposite sides of the bed, breathing heavily. Keosha shook her head and thought of what her parents would say if they saw her giggling and lolling on a bed at this hour. The thought of her parents sobered her and she sat up quickly, no longer smiling. She rummaged in her pocket and produced an envelope of creamy paper, upon which was a line of firm, uncompromisingly clear handwriting. The script read:  
  
_'Lady Abigail of Mattensworth, Daughter of the Earl of Mattensworth.'_  
  
Abby trembled as she took the letter, which proclaimed her Father's writing. Such a letter could only contain more orders, ones that Abby felt she wasn't quite willing to follow. She looked in question to the servant- friend and her look was answered when Keosha murmured,  
  
"A courier brought it early this morn, Abby. A palace servant received it for us, and kept it until seven, when I awoke. They handed it to me over breakfast and explained that they received it only because no one could find Gorison, who is apparently in charge (unofficially, of course) of the noble's rooms." Abby nodded absently and Keosha got up and walked over to the stand that held the washing pitcher and basin. As the noblewoman watched her, she sprinkled something into the pitcher, before pouring it into the washing basin.  
  
Abby joined her beside the basin and Keosha offered her a small, soft face towel. Abigail sniffed the steamy fragrance that lifted from the water, closed her eyes and sighed in appreciation. Lavender. When her mistress- friend opened her eyes, Keosha noted the gleaming thankfulness in the mauve and blue streaked orbs. As her friend proceeded to wash, Keosha began to go through the as- yet- unpacked trunks that held Abby's clothes.  
  
After they were dressed, the two girls chatted about their schedule. Firstly, their meeting with the Queen's Ladies would most likely be this morn, for that set of Ladies has no tolerance for tardiness in the paying of respects.  
  
Their wanderings took them all over the expansive castle, and they stopped to look outside, for they were eager to view the outdoors. The rain that puddled on the outdoor courtyard floor making Abby sigh. The climate in the Mattensworth area was much nicer. ' Hardly any rain,' she thought, wistful for the better weather.  
  
Abby and Keosha walked slowly down the halls, their slightly heeled slippered clicking slightly on the stone floors. Suddenly they came by an arched doorway, and they paused at the opening. An older woman walked towards them, her white hair loose and flowing down her back, the locks at the sides of her face drawn back. Her deep green robe flowed about her and was trimmed with gray. A solemn look graced her aged, but lovely features and she smiled at them in welcome.  
  
"You have entered the Green Coterie, and I am the Mother Iku, and you are new to court." Keosha nodded as Abigail said,  
  
" I am Lady Abigail of Mattensworth, this is my maid and friend, Keosha." She paused before continuing,  
  
"I have heard of the Red Coterie, and the Yellow, but not Green. Is your group perhaps an extension?" The woman shook her head and said with an understanding smile,  
  
"Nay, we had existed as long as the others, but we and the blue are of a quieter, less bold set." Abigail nodded, but Keosha looked a little nervous. Abby, noticing her discomfort, began to make their excuses,  
  
"We have walked the castle halls since ten tolls and we are weary. I shall talk with you another time, Mother Iku." The woman nodded and they left. The returned to their rooms and Keosha rang for their mid day meal. As they waited, Abby felt the paper crinkle, tucked in place under her sash. She determinedly placed her thoughts elsewhere; reading such a letter would only result in bitterness towards the man who called himself her Father. 


	9. A History of Keosha and The Green Coteri...

Heyo, I know last chapter was a bit of a fill- in, but I had to put something up...nothing was coming and all my ideas were for later. Thanks for stickin' by me, through great chapters (I know, I know, they're ALL great...aren't they...smiles threateningly as she fiddles with her pocketknife) and through the bad ones (which are few and far, far between)  
  
I've also realized that I've abandoned Keosha's accent. It's gone, off, flown away. Flown ze proverbial coop. Ahahaha, I crack me up...Hmm, serious chapter, writing it on a sugar high isn't good, I'll save it for later.  
  
AAAaaaaaaaaaaaaaahhhhhhhhhh! I'm sorry, sorry, sorry! sobs hysterically and grabs chrischelle's sleeve I can't believe I abandoned you!!!!! I am ashamed (in voice like that of Jacque [the French Cleaning Crab] from Finding Nemo). Hangs head please accept my humble apologies (or as humble as they get, coming from me). I'm soooooooooooooo(I'm getting tired of this, aren't you?)oooooooooooooooooo sorry!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! And that cookie you gave me! How could I have forgotten that unspoken but everlasting vow of responding to your reviews? I do not know, and shall try to remember in the future. I feel stupid. slaps herself There, I believe I am suitably punished. Forgive me.  
  
Ahem: Later is here!  
  
After a warm, light mid- day meal, Abby sat Keosha down on her large, four poster bed and said,  
  
"Now, this had better be good, Keosha, what is wrong with the Green Coterie? Why were you so uncomfortable?" The other girl shifted uncomfortably, all too aware of her friend's keen eyes upon her. Keosha looked down to the bedspread, where her slim fingers were plucking at the embroidery. The red roses were framed and laced around the green leaves. Green leaves, green, green coterie. The girl spoke, her voice trembling only a little.  
  
" The Coteries are groups of people whose life revolves around the help of those whose 'True Essence' is the same colour as theirs. Slaves in Manisanri are taken to all of the Coterie Villas when they are bought. They are then identified as to which Coterie we- they belong to." Keosha continued after her apparent slip- up. "After they had identified the Coterie, the slave spends two years in the villa of the Mother of the coterie's choice. There, they learn how to serve their masters and mistresses in every way. From how to scrub the floors, to how to massage them just so. Massaging was not the least intimate thing that the slaves are taught." Here Keosha reached up and began twining a lock of hair in her hand, a nervous gesture.  
  
"When the slave is deemed ready to serve his or her master, they are given garments in whichever colour coterie their True Essence is. They are tattooed with a symbol that shows their True Essence and then they are given back to their masters. Every four months, slaves are taken to their home villas, where they were trained, and they are allowed to stay for a twenty-hour period. Manisanrins are known to be the worst slave owners in all the Known Lands and the slaves are also said to be the worst treated. But, w-they have the advantage in that every four months, they are allowed a twenty hour rest. In their home villas, they are served, and their wounds, minor or otherwise are treated. This becomes a haven for many, nay, all slaves. W-they, they look forward to their rest period, and having incentive makes them work harder, and they strive to please their owners." She paused and tore her gaze from the bedspread. Looking Abby in the eye, she bravely continued.  
  
"When I made up my mind to flee from my master in Manisanri, I went to my home villa of the Green Coterie. They were surprised to see me, for I was due in three weeks. I stayed only for three hours, and I told Mother Sorano and Father Tomi of my plans." Keosha's lips pursed and she looked away from her friend and avid listener. Her usually gentle eyes grew fierce as she continued.  
  
" They told me that I mustn't, that I owed it to my master to stay. I told them that I had to, that I feared for my safety." The girl's voice broke slightly and before continuing she brushed her eyes with the back of her hand. "I, I had thought that they would be concerned...but they simply asked if I thought that my safety was their main concern. I was shocked; they had not seemed...I didn't think that they were so vicious, so cruel, so, so..." Her face crumpled and after a moment of silence, she sniffed loudly before she resumed her story.  
  
"They continued, saying that they only way to end what I thought was going on, was to end my True Essence...to kill myself." Keosha closed her eyes and saw the horrific scenes of her life, and she narrated them for the young, naïve noblewoman,  
  
"I realized how little my life mattered. No–one depended on me, I depended on them. If I took my life, it wouldn't effect anyone. The thought that Mother Sorano and Father Tomi, the two people that I had thought would care, didn't, it made it easier to make my decision. Mother Sorano asked where I would do the deed and if I...and if I would need rope or a vial of poison. When I inquired after the poison, she informed me that it was painless and quick. And that I needn't worry, they wouldn't charge me, for the rope or the vial." Keosha opened her eyes and blinked out a stream of tears. She then closed her eyes and continued.  
  
"I took the vial and left them. I thanked them for their advice and they smiled politely and said good-bye. I then walked out of my home villa forever. I wandered, not slowly but quickly around, fearing that someone would wonder why I was dawdling. I hoped that they would believe that I was a slave on an errand. So I walked with a purpose, I was thinking of the place that I would like to end it all. A place to end the madness that was my life. I wandered towards the docks and I smelt the scent of brine in the air. I have always loved the smell of the sea. The power... the power of the crash of the waves, the eternal element to it. Forever going in and out, so peaceful, never changing no matter how it changed other's lives. I knew then that the sea would be the thing to take me." Keosha paused and stood. Abby watched her cross to the window and look out over the bleak, wet world.  
  
The ex- slave touched the cold pane of glass, a reminder of the icy slap of the sea. She shuddered and turned her gaze to the dark stone walls of the castle. The guards stood in the rain, their cloaks dripping with rain and their expressions stony. As she watched, there was a toll of a bell, loud and dismal. The guards took a step from the semi- shelter of the walls and marched towards the Guard House as replacements took their places.  
  
One guard was already wet and shivering. His arms shook as he struggled to keep still. Keosha felt warmth close to her. She saw the young noblewoman out of the corner of her eye, watching the young, shivering guard intently. Abby's eyes turned a blue shade of pity and her face tightened at their mistreatment. Keosha turned to her, with the look of one who is haunted by memories in her eyes.  
  
"He shivers, but he is free. I know what he feels. His is free, but enslaved. He must serve your king, and I had to serve my master. That guard is nothing but a boy, practically a child, as I was when I was first taken. He shivers, he can do little else, if he complains he will be punished, and make no mistake, Abby, my young, innocent friend, he will be punished." She turned from the window, intending to continue with her story, but Abby's gasp stopped her.  
  
The guard had fallen, his dark blue cape almost making him blend with the dreary world about him. Abby and Keosha watched as the others guards noticed, but did not move.  
  
"Why do they do nothing? He is unconscious! He could be hurt!" The anger in the girl's voice was evident, her anguish pronounced. Keosha looked down. ' This is the way with all rulers, they want much, but can handle little well. The Captain of the Guards will not care, the other guards know that leaving with post will mean punishment, a whipping, perhaps.' Keosha closed her eyes.  
  
When she opened them, intending to say something to Abby, the noble was gone. Keosha whirled around, looking for her. Her chocolate eyes fell upon the opened trunk on the floor and the hastily strewn aside clothes that surrounded it. Inspecting it further, she realized two of Abby's heavy cloaks were gone. Cursing her friend's impulsiveness, the servant grabbed her own cloak and swept out the door, knowing full well where her friend had gone. 


	10. Musings, A Gift, and An Engagement

**Chapter 10: Musings, A Gift, and An Engagement**  
  
Well, we shall see, we shall see. Kaio: why do you assume that Abby's going to give her cloak to the guard? Because it's obvious?!? Well think again!!!!!!!!!!! Alright, but I hate it when you assume stuff. Anyhoo, I'm still awaiting reviews from my EVER- FAITHFUL REVIEWERS...hint, hint, hint.  
  
Just as a note: Keosha is pronounced as Key (lock, key), oh (oh my goodness), sha (do you need an example?). Key-oh-sha. Sophia is pronounced So (so what?) fee (a parking fee) ah (ah, good, you've got it). So-fee-ah. Gorison is gore (blood and gore) ih (the I sound in 'is') son (son, daughter), Gore-I-son.

* * *

The man who had welcomed Abby to the Royal Castle can at his desk, contemplating his current predicament. His orders, as far as he could tell, did not cover ex- slaves. He had been told to report any strange people, suspicious people.

For it was obvious to a man of his talents that Lady Abigail of Mattensworth's personal maidservant was a former slave. Not only did she hold herself in a servile and slave-like way, but also there was a scarred ring around her left middle finger. Her mistress must know of her maid servant's former occupation, such a thing could not be hidden from a close friend. And close friends were just what the two seemed to be.

The man reviewed what he knew. Manisanan slave owners punished their slaves for their first mistake my taking an iron ring and heating it to red- hot. The slaves would have the rings put onto their fingers then adjusted according to their size. Once the iron ring had been on the slave's finger for fifteen seconds, it was taken off and the slave was expected to continue with their duties as if nothing were happening.

This girl's scar was faded and hardly noticeable. This meant that she received it when she was quite young, ten to thirteen years ago, or if it were more recently, then the herbs and salves used on it were powerful. Still, it was there, extremely faded, but there.

To a learned scholar and surprisingly sharp man this was quite noticeable. Despite his reputation as a slow and ponderous man, the noble was really a sharp one. He noticed many things; the maid servant's obvious protectiveness was a tell- tale sign of trust towards a safe employer.

Though the man knew that the Earl of Mattensworth was the one paying Keosha Jameson, he also knew her true devotion was to his daughter, her friend; it was obvious. He mentally studied them both, still in their travelling apparel and tired.

Lady Abigail, the rightly- famed beauty. Maidservant Keosha, a beauty in her own way.

Just what was the Earl playing at, sending his daughter, three maid- servant, one of whom was attractive. Dangerous. The Earl was practically pleading for someone to seduce either or both of the two women under his protection. Though what sort of 'protection' a man like the Earl could offer was beyond this man.

The analytical man narrowed his eyes and spidered his hands together. The Earl was not a stupid man. His daughter would not just attract rich noblemen, but all men, noble or common, rich or poor. The intellectually- famed Earl was throwing his daughter to the vicious mouths of the pack of dogs that some chose to call the Arulanthian Court.

But why?

* * *

The shadow that likes to be known as Yona carried a basket swathed in black cloth of yellow and peach roses as the person creeped silently towards the gypsy circle.

The afternoon was a drizzly gray, making Yona shiver even in the warm clothing covering the sneaking body. Three roses of each colour he placed on the entrance. The gypsies would know that a yellow rose meant friendship and the peach meant the promise of a meeting.

Yona slipped away, anxious not to be caught by the gypsies or their friends, the trees. Succeeding, Yona joined with the shadows, making a path to the Royal Castle, where his friend would be waiting.

* * *

Sophia brushed back her blonde locks and paced her sitting room. Her father had been tirelessly interviewing eligible man, after eligible man for weeks. He had actually begun interviewing before Abby and Keosha had left, but at the time, Sophia hadn't known of it.

She had moped for a day and a half after her friends had left, but she was quick at re-instating self-happiness. She quickly wrote Abby with a side-not to Keosha and continued living her life prior to their departure.

Three days after they had gone, the Earl of Mattensworth paid her father a visit. Her father, the portly Baron John, received him in his sitting room.

Sophia's original reaction was disinterest. Their fathers met at few social functions, but their business affairs brought them together frequently. She supposed that the Earl was there on business.

The future Baroness continued to cross-stitch a pattern of nymphs on a book cover as the two men conversed on the floor below her. Sophia, never an avid cross- stitcher, quickly felt a profound feeling of monotony consume her.

She stood, intending to simply pick up one of the novels that she and Abby found secret and forbidden delight in. However, her stomach had other ideas.

She quietly let herself out of her room, ringing for a servant to bring her a snack would simply give her amore idle time, which was what Sophia was avoiding.

After walking down the carpeted halls of the upper storey, the girl made her way down the large 14 and 28 stairway and turned down another hallway, which took her past her father's study. As she passed the door, a thought suddenly stopped her in her tracks.

She wasn't truly that hungry, and without the servants' knowledge, the young noblewoman had gained intelligence of three passageways that were located in her home. One of these passages led through the back of the Baron's study.

Grinning mischievously to no-one, but glad to be going something remotely entertaining, she turned in the opposite direction of the study. Minutes later, she stood infront of a family portrait painted many generations ago.

Tentatively, she reached out and felt along the bumpy edges of the elaborate frame. Catching her breath slightly, she grasped the small, almost undetectable catch that would release the door hidden behind the six-foot painting. She pulled at it impatiently, and the painting swung open silently, the well- greased hinges insured that no-one heard the user of the passage enter or exit.

Sophia entered the passage and smiled wider. The servants kept their house meticulously clean, including the passages that were not part of their job description. They even kept a tiny lamp to help negotiate one's way through the passages.

She peeked out of the passage and down the hallway. Empty. 'Good,' she thought and pulled the portrait shut behind her.

Excitement was pounding through her veins, and though she kept telling herself that this was nothing new, after a few days of intense boredom, this hasty excursion kept her blood up.

She started down the narrow corridor, holding the lamp out infront of her, an impish smile resting on her features. Soon after, she reached a corridor with wood walls. This was the extension of the Baron's study, where the architects and builders and conspired, making a passageway behind the rest of the room.

Sophia held her breath, straining to hear more than the deep murmur of men's voices. She waited for a few seconds before creeping closer to the wall. She leaned up against it and brushed back a wooden panel used by the servants to 'check if the master needed refreshments'.

She held her head close and listened,

"So it is agreed upon, then, John." The Earl's voice did not give any lee- way for argument. Sophia's father replied in a weary voice that his daughter had never heard from him before, "Yes, you will give me the pieces of land I need in exchange for what you need..." Her father paused heavily before continuing, "A bride."

Sophia pushed herself up on the tips of her toes to see through the opening.

The Earl stood, forcing notice. Her father sat behind his desk, a small stack of papers in his hands.

The Baron looked towards the Earl, who stood over the desk in a crowding manner. Swallowing visibly, Baron John Lelly's Brook turned the papers and pushed a bottle of ink and a quill towards the Earl. After reading the page, the Earl picked up the quill.

Smiling in a satisfied way, the man unscrewed the ink bottle, dipped the quill and scribbled in a short, concise way.

"There, we are even. I will call tomorrow and discuss the details." The Earl straitened and handed the quill to the master of the house. The Baron took it after a slight hesitation and signed the document aswell.

"The three pieces of land, Marton's Meadow, Seldon's Farms and Tomgonry's Wood will be yours upon my marriage to your daughter. Good day."


	11. Lord Antony Dewhurst

Chapter 11  
  
!!!!! !!!!! !!!!! !!!!! !!!!! !!!!! !!!!! !!!!! !!!!! !!!!! !!!!! !!!!! !!!!! !!!!! !!!!! !!!!! OH, Chrischelle, you are soooo lucky that I got your review before I posted. So, so lucky. This was what was at the beginning of this chapter BEFORE you reviewed:  
  
Well, a big, fat thank-you to my one (ONE, 1, ONE, one...in case you hadn't read it right) reviewer. That's right, One. Thank you to my loyal read- but-I'm-not-gonna-bother-to-let-my-poor-author-know-that-I-AM-reading non- reviewer(s). DmN ü. That's right. Grrrrrrrrrrr. Alright, I'm done now. Please review. Please? Pleeeeeeease?  
  
Kaio, my lone reviewer: Well I'm glad to be unpredictable, for once, oh faithful one. I think you deserve a dozen cookies for your loyalty. What kind do you want, chocolate chip, double chocolate, white and milk chocolate chip, macadamia nut and white chocolate, raspberry chocolate chip, or almond chip cookies? I recommend the white and milk chocolate chip cookies. Or ze variety pack. It's yours to choose, my dutiful one. Take as long as u want in getting back to me...I have plenty of time now that my other reviewers have abandoned me glares threateningly at read-but-I'm- not-gonna-bother-to-let-the-poor-author-know-that-I-AM-reading non- reviewer(s)  
  
Later: Ohoh, ummmmmmm, winndixie? I have nooo idea whatsoever what 'colio' means, please enlighten me. Because I haven't a clue what that means, it can't really encourage or constructively criticise, so it's, no offence, really not a review.  
  
So Kaio, here's to you!  
  
End Scene: Yeah. But I thank you that u reviewed, Chrischelle, I thank you. Took your time about it, though...I sill love you (or as affectionate as I get). Like I said, you're lucky. And I accept the kitten with open arms. I shall put my grumpy, old cat in my sister's room and let my new kitten wander its new domain. Please, what does my kitten look like? And what did you think of last chapter...and this one? Ya kinda missed the point of ze 'review' thing, but again, I still love you. And because you reviewed, u also get your choice of a dozen cookies, you and Kaio both. Now, READ!....and review.  
  
§§§§§  
  
The Earl picked up his hat and left the study, not bothering to ring for a servant to show him out. Sophia burned with what she had just heard. Married?! To him? The man was twice her age, he was her best friend's father, for Remaneen's sake! She closed the panel and picked up her lamp. She turned and sunk to the ground, weary beyond belief. Slowly, her nose prickled, announcing the tears that would follow. She sniffed loudly and stood.  
  
How she got back to her rooms, Sophia would never know. But she found herself pacing them with such intensity. 'How could he do this to me! A reliable man, no....wealthy, influential, a thousand times my age, condescending man, yes. How can I bear it? What will Abby and Keosha think? Abby!' Sophia stopped dead. Abby. Her dearest friend would be her, her...'I don't even want to finish that thought.' She shook her head and sighed a great, heaving sigh that came from her troubled heart. She continued to pace, even though her feet seemed as heavy as the oaken dining table in their banquet hall. Banquet hall. Banquets, wedding banquet, after the banquet, after the delicacies and the gifts, the marriage bed. A tiny moan wrenched itself from her soul,  
  
"Oh, gods!" She staggered to her bed and collapsed, she buried her face in her arms and let the tickle of tears come, let her eyes prick, and let the tears fall onto the soft quilt, soaking it. Her crying turned to sobs and she sobbed and sobbed, for what seemed like an eternity. Soon, though, her sobs were wracking her body, her tears dried up, leaving her without even the comfort of succumbing to tears. She ignored her empty tears and sobs dry sobs that left her heaving on her bed, morning her fate. Mourning her lost future, her lost love. She lay on her bed long after she stopped any semblance of crying, shaking with grief. Finally, Sophia fell asleep, tired beyond her years, tired beyond belief.  
  
±±±±±±±±±±±±±±±±±±±±±±±±±±±±±±±±±±±±±±±±±±±±±±±±±±±±±±±±±±±±  
  
Abby's heels clicked furiously down the stone floors as she desperately tried to remember the way back to the courtyard. She saw a window and dashed towards it, exhaling the breath she realised she'd been holding. She was going the right way, the view from the window was still of the courtyard. After a few seconds of deliberation, she ran down the corridor, her long skirts hampering her speed. The heavy winter cloaks she wore and carried lessened her progress towards the courtyard.  
  
At last she spotted the heavy oaken door that she believed led to the courtyard. Hoping that one of the other guards had helped their fallen comrade, she ran (as best she could) towards the door. Lifting the heavy metal handle, she pulled, using all her body weight. The door creaked and groaned, opening slowly. She stopped pulling to quickly wipe her forehead with her arm. Pulling again, Abby strained to move the heavy, stubborn door any further. Finally, she moved it just past twelve inches, each of the dozen dearly bought. She pulled herself through the doorway, and stopped as the rain pelted her mercilessly. Pulling the cloak's hood over her face, Abby made out the shape of the young collapsed guard in the middle of the courtyard. His fellow guards had not moved to help him.  
  
She ran towards him, her long and now wet skirts making her stumble. She knelt in the muddles next to him, pressing her hand against his cold, wet cheek. He was shivering terribly, his damp hair in trendles around his handsome face. She unfolded the heavy cloak and was about to place it on him when a hand stopped her. Abby looked up at Keosha and nodded, understanding.  
  
"Oh. The rain will soak it through if I put it on now, is that what you meant?' Keosha nodded and said in a shivery voice,  
  
"Grab his feet and I'll grab his other half, Abby. Together we'll lift him." Abby lifted his feet, trying to pin the cloak under her arm while lifting him. Keosha hooked her hands under his arms and lifted with her mistress. The man wasn't as heavy as the noblewoman had expected, but Keosha had already suspected that he wasn't finished filling out, 'or,' she thought, 'just a natural runt.' They moved him towards the door, and ever the eyes of the other guards watched their labours.  
  
"Put him down here," Keosha murmured, as they neared the doorway. They did so gently as Keosha picked heavily on the door. After four hard kicks, a nervous-looking boy wearing the palace page's tunic and colours opened the door.  
  
"Pick him up, Keosha," Abby muttered as her friend shoved the door open. They carried him in as the noblewoman ordered the young boy to close the door. They carefully laid him on the cold, but dry stone floor and Abby covered him with the cloak. Keosha looked up to see the page watching them curiously. Carefully, but still curiously, he began edging away. The boy's movement caught Abby's eyes and she said in a firm, commanding voice,  
  
"You, page, find a healer, and send some men to carry this guard to a bed chamber. Quick now!" The boy nodded and bowed before running down the corridor.  
  
"Cover him completely, I think he might have a cold fever." Abby nodded and began tucking the cloak around the young man's body. She finished, and looked to Keosha for direction. The older girl shrugged and said,  
  
"The only thing we can do is keep him dry, and we aren't exactly able to do that, are we?" Abby looked down at the man, whose wet clothing had almost soaked the cloak through. Shaking her head she knelt back down and slowly began rubbing one of his arms. Keosha, watching her mistress gently almost caress this unknown young man, started to worry. If anyone else saw this, her reputation good reputation would end before it had begun. She slowly knelt beside her friend and saw intensity lighting up Abby's eyes. Keosha placed her hand on Abby's arm, making her look up, startled. Keosha gently pulled her naïve friend up, and in a quiet whisper confided,  
  
"Your kindness and care is inspiring, truly, Lady Abigail, but if others see you, they will see only a noblewoman touching man, and their gossiping tongues will be set awagging. Best keep your kindness in check, my lady." And Abby, understanding that Keosha's formal speech was due to possible eavesdroppers, and, also understood her reasoning, joined her friend in waiting anxiously for help.  
  
While they seemed to wait for hours, in truth it was no more than a few minutes. Presently the thud of men's footsteps were heard on the stairs and Keosha rushed towards them. Three men appeared from the stairwell. Keosha hastily directed them towards the man on the ground, near which Abby stood. The men made their way towards them and one asked of Abby, "What happened, miss?"  
  
"We were looking out upon the courtyard and saw him collapse. None of his fellow guards moved to help him, so my maid servant and I brought him in here." While she explained, the young page had returned, towing a reluctant man in green and brown trimmed robes. His arrival distracted Abigail from the three men's look of uneasiness that Keosha caught.  
  
"Here's your healer, my lady," He told Abby, seeming proud of himself for carrying out his orders. She smiled at him, but the healer began to talk as soon as she had,  
  
"Well I hope this was worth my being dragged from my studies, I really don't like having pages summon their elders, it isn't right. To be treated in such a manner, 'tis unacceptable, I tell you. Ah, now where is this young, shivering guard?" The healer's voice was slightly nasal, Keosha noticed as he bent to examine the man on the floor. The healer straitened after a second or two and said in a slightly disappointed voice,  
  
"He'll have to be removed to the healing quarters. You men," he said, gesturing to the three men who had arrived moments before him, "lift him gently and follow me." The men looked at each other before hoisting the man easily and trailing after the bossy healer.  
  
Abby, Keosha, and the page stood staring after them. The page scratched his neck and turned to Abby, his eyes wide,  
  
"Uh, my lady," he paused, seeming to wait for her approval to continue. At her nod, he pressed on, "Did I hear you correctly, that you brought him in from the courtyard?" Keosha and Abby exchanged a look. Why did that matter? When Abby nodded a second time, the page looked crestfallen. He looked at the tops of his felt shoes in great interest. Abby felt a prickling down her wet back. What was this boy concealing? She walked over to him, the picture of noble imperiality. Placed two fingers under his chin, she lifted his head gently, so he was looking at her.  
  
"Why did you ask?" The page muttered something, looking away and back to her again. "Speak up, child, I am not an ogre, but an impatient noble. Why do you ask where the man was found?" The boy looked into Abigail's eyes, and she was startled to find them brimming with unshed tears. Keeping his gaze on her face, the boy answered a small, miserable voice,  
  
"My lady, the guards in that courtyard yonder," he waved his arm towards the courtyard door, "are never to be helped by us, us palace-dwellers, I mean, they're training to become part of the King's Guard. And anyway, my lady, he woulda gotten up anyways, he'd a been fine. I don't think you'll get in too much trouble from his Majesty, on account of how recently you came here, maybe he'll be in such a good mood that he'll not say anathing. I've heard he's like that." The page nodded to affirm his last statement. Keosha and Abby looked at each other. Be in trouble with a King that she hadn't been introduced to yet? Lovely way to begin her life at court. 'And furthermore,' thought Abby, ' Does the whole castle know about us? Would even a page already know us by appearance?' She turned her attention back to the now- anxious page who stood infront of her.  
  
"I've not done anathing, bad, have I?" He asked. She struggled to smiled, but she felt like she ought to say 'Now, I wouldn't know, would I? After all, you seem to know far more about me than I about you, why don't' YOU tell ME if you've done 'anathing' bad!?!' Abby shook her head. She'd heard somewhere that pages were trained to keep an ear out for information, it could very well be that he was simply doing what he was instructed to do.  
  
"No, but perhaps you could tell me where the guard will be kept, I've no notion of where the healing quarters are located." The page still look unconvinced, but Abby, after a moment of reflection decided she wasn't going to ask and risk another speech containing 'anathing' and 'woulda'. She gave him a stern look, decided that he was a new page, and waited for him to lead them.  
  
The page withered slightly and turned toward one of the adjoining corridors, motioning for them to follow. They did, Keosha memorizing and Abby attempting to memorize the turns. The trio arrived infront of a set of tall, white doors which had silvery writing on it, proclaiming ' Healing Quarters'. The page stepped forward and knocked ever so softly on the white doors. Hopping back quickly, the boy looked up at the two women and muttered something inaudible, shifting restlessly. Before Abby could ask him to repeat himself, the doors opened silently and quickly, leaving Abby with no doubt why the page had jumped back so quickly after knocking.  
  
A tall, white-haired man in white robes stood with his hands clasped together infront of him, and a questioning look on his face. His gaze fell on Keosha and he raised one white eyebrow, which led to pursed lips. Keosha instinctively stepped back and more behind Abby, and adopted a more servant-like stance. Abigail considered it briefly before shifting slightly, drawing the man's attention towards her.  
  
"We are here to inquire as to the health of a certain young guard which was recently brought under the care of a healer. We were told that he would be kept here. Is it possible that we see him?" The man nodded and motioned for them to follow him. He led them down the white corridor and passed doorways with white curtains as coverings. He stopped infront of one, and left them there.  
  
"Well I suppose he has better things to do," Abby muttered, miffed. The page eyed the man's back in dislike. He shook his head and pulled the curtain back from the doorway. After poking his head in, he pulled it out and informed the two that their guard was at the far end, and awake. The boy stopped and asked suddenly,  
  
"My lady, I've got no idea what your names are, or your proper title,"  
  
"I am Lady Abigail of Mattensworth, and this is my maid-servant, Keosha Jameson." The page nodded and told them his name, Patrick.  
  
The man watched them enter, his blue eyes bright against his pale skin and dark brown hair. He sat up slowly as Abigail and Keosha stood by the bed on which he now sat. They awkward silence was deafening before the page hurried forward,  
  
"This is the Lady Abigail, it was she who carried you into the castle from the rain, she and her maid-servant, Keosha. This is Lord Antony Dewhurst, a King's Guard in training." The young man's eyes shone with half disgust and half with ill-concealed amusement.  
  
"You may be proud to be called the reason that I shall not succeed in the King's Guard. You two women lifted me from the courtyard?" His voice was a light tenor, which sent shivers up Keosha's spine. She quickly turned away, and out of the corner of her eye saw Abby shift slightly too. ' Thanks to the God and Goddess, it wasn't just me,' Keosha thought gratefully. Abby swallowed and said a tad contritely,  
  
"We have come to apologize for disrupting your er- training and also to inquire after your health." Lord Dewhurst smiled slightly before replying.  
  
"I had not realized that I looked quite so pathetic as to require the aid of two women, however I am thankful to you both." The two looked at each other before the nobleman continued, "It was ill- fated that I should have stayed up later last night, thought I, for if I had not, then I would not, undoubtedly, have collapsed. But, I remind myself that if I had not collapsed, I would not have had two young ladies visit me. Your apologies are accepted, ladies- Lady Abigail, Miss Keosha." Abby's brows shot up at the eloquent speech and Abby replied, her friend still slightly shivery after hearing his voice again.  
  
"Then all is well between us, Lord Dewhurst?" He smiled again, a broad smile which made Keosha's heart contract slightly and he replied to Abby, though his blue eyes were resting on Keosha's face. "Aye, Lady Mattensworth, it is. Though perhaps were shall see each other at social events, and become friends. I have already heard of the beauty that is shared between you and your, friend, is the correct term between you two, I guess." Keosha's cheeks coloured, though it was almost indistinguishable against her dark complexion. The noble's eyes narrowed pleasantly as his smile grew and he continued,  
  
"I thank you for delivering me from the rain, ladies. Perhaps you two would take tea with my sister, who also resides in King James' Court, and I, at two, tomorrow afternoon. I would thank you for your presence." Abby glanced at Keosha before turning back to the man on the be with an answering smile,  
  
"We will attend, with pleasure." Lord Dewhurst's smile grew and he replied that he would look forward to their ubiety. As they said their farewells, Abby informed him that they would visit him when he was feeling better. The nobleman snorted in the most ungentleman-like way and his slimly muscled shoulders shook as while before he explained himself.  
  
"Ladies, I was never truly ill enough to be brought here. I will report to my sergeant almost immediately, but I was seeing my most esteemed guest out before I could properly clothe myself," The two women coloured (Keosha more so) as his meaning dawned on them. They said final good-byes and Patrick led, with Abby behind him and Keosha turned to follow when a slim, strong hand caught her dark, slim one. She turned and looked again into the blue eyes that so reminded her of the sea over which she travelled to find her freedom. His voice grew deeper as he whispered softly to her,  
  
"Your mistress is said to be beautiful beyond belief and her hand maiden is told to be fair," She looked at him in confusion and he continued, " But though I find Lady Abigail to be lovely, you are beyond compare. Yours is a different kind of beauty, like the velvet of the stars is different then the petal of a rose." He paused and his eyes twinkled, "I myself prefer a midnight velvet." Keosha's cheeks borrowed their hue from a cherry and he pulled her closer, so she could smell his husky masculine scent.  
  
"Your mistress will come tomorrow, but it is you that I crave to see." Faintly the serving girl heard Abby's voice and she pulled gently away from the alluring blue eyes. "Tomorrow," he said softly, almost a question.  
  
"Tomorrow." She replied, as an answer, a promise.  
  
§§§§§§§§§§§§§§§§§§§§§§  
  
I know that 'imperiality' isn't a word, but I needed to get it across and my thesaurus wasn't handy.  
  
Note: There are two deities in the country of Arulanthu (where my story is set) and the surrounding countries. One is the Mother goddess, Remaneen. Her counterpart in the universal patriarch, Solaro, the Father god. Together, they rule the countries of Abby and Keosha's world.  
  
Please REVIEW....promptly. Thank you. 


	12. Doubts and Gypsies

**Chapter 12- Doubts and Gypsies**

A BIIIIIIIIIIIIIG thank you to Kaio, Nosilla, and Chrischelle who reviewed promptly...as asked. I'd like to especially thank Nosilla for commenting on my writing style, and Chrischelle for asking me (ME!) to be her favourite author.... and (duh duh duh DUM!) yes! I will be your favourite author...wow! The world's a much more beeeeeautiful place now! Thank you so much for the honour of such a question...thank you for bestowing this upon my (not-so) humble hands. accepts the velvet box, and takes out golden pen, and smiles stupidly as the pen glimmers in the sunlight. Smiles wider when she sees silver eraser and takes a couple hours to stare happily at the pretty metal. Eventually sighs, puts both pen and eraser (shocking, I know) back into the velvet box and is currently typing with one finger while stroking the box happily with her other hand  
  
My dear Chrischelle, I'd like to (in all seriousness), thank you for how you described what the reader feels as they read my work. If all my other reviewers died or decided they hated it... and if you still liked it, I would continue to write, if only for you. You have truly touched me. Mentally brushes away seriousness (and tears) and smiles Ahem, moving on! I now present you with your cookies hands Chrischelle a large (Big, huge, ample, awash, barn door (what sort of expression is that?!?), brimming, bulky, bull, burly, capacious, chock-full (chock...?!?), colossal, commodious, considerable, copious, crowded, enormous, extensive, fat, full, gigantic, heavy duty, heavyweight, hefty, huge, hulking, humungous, husky, immense, jumbo, king sized, mammoth, massive, monster, mungo, oversize, packed, prodigious, roomy, sizable, spacious, strapping, stuffed, substantial, super colossal, thundering, vast, voluminous, walloping, whopper, whopping) box of cookies...of all kinds!!!!! Except for yucky oatmeal raisin, 'cause nobody actually likes them. Moving on....  
  
And white and milk chocolate chip cookies for Kaio...my first reviewer (I hold u in a special place in my heart...riiiiiiight) lol.  
  
My profound apologies for not updating and posting sooner....exams and end-of- school stuff, not fun (on a brighter note: School's out). Happy Canada Day!!!!!!! Happy Independence Day!! ( Happy whatever other day you celebrate!)

* * *

Abby and Patrick were halfway down the long corridor by the time Keosha had caught up to them. The page glanced back at her and grinned, but when the girl looked to her mistress-friend, there was no returned glance. Keosha walked behind the noblewoman and the page, until Patrick parted with them. The two walked to their rooms, Abby still leading the way, a slight frown set on her features.  
  
With a jolt, Keosha wondered if her long-time friend disapproved of Lord Dewhurst's interest in her. ' She wouldn't, she's always wanted us to be in love...' Shaking the thought from her head another came to her, unbidden, 'She wasn't so supportive when she reminded you of your paid companionship,' Mentally, Keosha slapped that terrible thought away and clenched her fists. ' I will _not_ think ill of her for expressing what most would say _every d_ay in a harsher way. _And_ she didn't mean it, I know that, and she apologised, it was a long, tiring day for her, she's not used to travelling,'  
  
While the maidservant continued to silently lecture herself, the object of her lecture was thinking on an entirely different subject...  
  
Keosha had never shared much about her past. Yes, Abigail knew she was an escaped slave, but she had never known about her master and mistress or even what being a slave entailed as to duties. She felt utterly snobbish to have known her friend for four years, yet had never thought to ask for personal information.

Unbidden, a tear leaked from her eye, and she tightened her lips as she brushed it aside. ' What a friend!' she thought, furious with herself, ' to just order her about, with no regard for her former life or background, what an unfeeling wench! A disgraceful, snobbish, self-centred, _putrid_ excuse for a friend!' He quickened her pace, wanting to just bury herself in the soft covers of her bed and sob away her thoughtlessness.  
  
The sound of Keosha catching her breath behind her to keep up slowed the noblewoman. 'Little good it would do to run us to the ground just to have my pity cry a few minutes sooner.' She moderated her pace and continued with her self- loathing. ' Oh, Abigail of Mattensworth is the nicest person, she knows all about her closest friend, oh yes, what she knows about Keosha Jameson could fill a book! I don't even know her Gods- blessed age!' She continued, occasionally muttering aloud, but under her breath, which, of course, had just the effect on Keosha's already muddled thoughts...  
  
'She hates me! No, no, she loves me like a sister; she wants to see me happy. Maybe she won't go to tea, just to prevent us from seeing each other.' Keosha's thoughts exploded as Abby began muttering,

'She thinks I'm below him! No, never. Never, ever, ever. No, I refuse to believe it, _she loves me like a sister_.' Keosha physically shook herself, then straightened out, her head high. ' I will not believe the worst of her. She is simply confused, perhaps. I won't be bringing it up. Not unless she does.' With a firm nod of her head, she lowered her head to the proper degree of servitude and continued, sneaking the occasional glance at her muttering friend.

* * *

A scullery maid let herself out of a bedchamber, having finished her cleaning. She paused to close the door when a noblewoman came down the corridor towards her. The woman's brunette hair flew into her face, beautiful through the frown upon it. Her shapely figure was tense and she walked quickly, muttering, not noticing the staring scullery maid.  
  
'The nobles get crazier every season.' She shook her head and watched the maid walk behind her mistress and stared. 'Natalia keeps to her Highness's chambers, she's no noble's personal servant!' The scullery maid stared after the pair. One crazy, muttering noble, followed by a servant that has no business in the noble's chamber quarters. Shaking her head the scullery maid continued. Nobles were flakey, and now the other servants were too. 'I'll have to get myself outa' here, quick-like.' With that, she walked towards the Head Housekeeper's room, wondering if she could get a reference...

* * *

Yona smiled from their place on the ramparts. 'So the Earl's daughter was compassionate. Good.' The shadowed figure watched the two women struggle to lift the young man. Leaning slightly closer, and squinting a bit, Yona recognised the face of Lord Antony Dewhurst. 'Lovely, just what the healer brewed.' The figure shook its head, and moved cautiously along the walls, not watching for the guards, but for the moss, which grew between the unkept stones.  
  
The black-swathed person arrived only minutes before the trio. Peering through the healing quarter's window, Yona watched as the young page, Abby and Keosha were admitted into the Quarters. Hopping agilely from one outer window sill to another, Yona kept track of the trio's progress my watching through the windows, the white cloth acting as a barrier didn't reach the stone floor, letting the mid-calves show of any walking down the corridor.  
  
The three entered the room where the guard lay in the bed. 'Antony, you fool!' Yona silently cursed the guardsman as the black clothed person observed his close perusal of the noblewoman's handmaiden. ' Of all the people to take to....why them?' Shaking their head, the person gazed at the interaction between the young nobleman and the two women.

The young guardsman took the maidservant's hand and Yona observed the change in the young woman's dark cheek. The servant left and Yona noted the way the nobleman's eyes followed her and how he took a moment to compose himself before calling someone in. A healer in white robes came in and Yona slipped away. The figure had no need of any further knowledge of the guardsman, for now.  
  
Yona hooked a rope in-between the stonework of the walls and slid down it, the padded boots on the person's feet absorbing any sound that regular boots would have given upon impact with the earth. Looking up Yona tugged and the hook folded on itself and Yona jumped back, to avoid being speared by the special metal hook.  
  
Picking it up and stowing it in a mud-containing bag, the shadowed figure attached it closely to its person and left, the rain erasing any footprint and evidence of them from the mud.

* * *

The next day, the gypsy camp was being broken. They must move about often, for gypsies do hate to be tied to one spot for long.  
  
The two gypsy brothers had noticed the roses, and if any of the other caravan folk noticed, there was no mention made.  
  
' Just as well,' Hershel thought. ' The stranger needs no-one talking of him...or her.' Hershel quickly corrected his thoughts to allow for the (unlikely) event that Yona was a female.  
  
Mier had withdrawn yet again, even to Hershel, and his older brother could not help but wonder if their new friend were the cause. Asking would do nothing, Hershel knew, for questioning Mier was a waste of both parties' time.  
  
The young man harnessed the horses, thinking of their night time visitor. Yona seemed to know the meaning of flowers, and something of languages aswell. So, to Hershel's way of thinking, the person was either a traveller, a noble, or a spy. Travellers picked up such information and talent, nobles were taught it, and spies needed to know such things....and most spies were originally travellers. But what sort of noble sneaked about in the Royal Forest? To the young gypsy's understanding: none.  
  
The Caravan Master called for move out in a quarter hour. Shaking his head, Hershel began checking the thrice-checked wagon for any missed errors. Yona could wait, though finding the gypsies would not take very much effort (their trail would be obvious what with the wagons and all), their shadow- friend would perhaps not visit them, on account of their moving. Shrugging the feeling of disappointment at not seeing this mysterious rose-giver again, the young man continued with his inspection.

* * *

Across the Caravan- Circle, Hinda watched Hershel closely. His hair fell gracefully into his handsome face as he bent to check the underside of the wagon. Her heart squeezed as he flipped the gangling bells out of his face and continued his work. Such a time they had had at the bonfire dances last night! She flushed at the mere memory of his merry green eyes as they danced with one another last night. She peeked through the opening of her family's caravan to see him again.  
  
She sighed lightly, but not lightly enough that her all- seeing and hearing Mother did not hear. Her Mother leaned over her to see what she sighed at. Smiling wisely, she patted her eldest daughter's head.  
  
"You are too young to be sighing and worrying over a boy, Hinda. Your time is better spent improving your Light and your skills." Hinda's Mother, Mignon had not been born into a gypsy caravan, but had married into one when she fell in love with Hinda's father and his way of life. She had been raised in a prosperous Marquion family, confined to a world of charades, where people lied eloquently and smiled without their eyes. Her love of the Gypsy way had come from their bold talk and their lack of pretences.  
  
Now she surveyed her daughter's pretty face and wondered how she had come to be telling her daughter off for loving. ' Too young yet. She needs to become a woman.'  
  
Hinda, in her turn was surveying her Mother. Her small, fair Mother. She held herself nobly, even when stirring a pot over their open fires. She smiled at the sound of her Father's approaching footsteps. He smiled in return when he saw them together and called to them in his deep voice, drawing out their names,  
  
"Miiiiiiiiiinion, Hiindaaaa. It is time to be off, my butterflies, small and fair wife, doe." Shaking her head at her husband's foolishness over their name-meanings, Mignon leaned over to kiss her daughter's still pink cheek. They sat in the front of their canvass- covered wagon, while their daughter made herself comfortable in the back.  
  
Hinda pushed aside her thoughts of Hershel. They had grown up in each other's company and if you were born into a caravan, you stayed until you were 'married or buried.' as the old gypsy saying went. The young gypsy girl smiled slightly. One day (perhaps soon,) Hershel would see her as a girl, not simply a playmate. ' And that,' she thought, ' Is a _very_ encouraging thought, indeedy.'  
  
Settling back against a rolled-up blanket, she pulled out her small wooden pipe and began to play, and others in the rest of the caravans accompanied. Soon the caravan travelled in the midst of Hinda's pipe, a half- stringed mandolin, a jangling tambourine, and a bumpily played fiddle. The rest of the caravan sang along the in the melodious Gypsy tongue.  
  
Soon the Royal Forest was filled with the unearthly and full sound of Gypsy music. And the very birds were quiet as they listened. 


	13. A Terrified Scream

**Chapter 13- A Terrified Scream**

I'm sorry, Lilaith. I've never met anyone who wasn't an adult (and I'm assuming that you're not, 'cause (no offence) that would be more than a little odd) that liked oatmeal raisin...my humblest apologies. And I hope that you and your sibs enjoy many batches of freshly baked oatmeal raisin cookies in the future. Thanks for telling me you're reading...even if you don't say anything incredibly uplifting and constructive to say, and thanks for takin' the time to review this time...VERY (times a million and one) much appreciated.  
  
Chrischelle...yes, yes, BIG box. Lord Antony Dewhurst...her admirer.... I KNOW!!!!! I love him...he's great! But I'm disappointed, mi amiga, no comment on Hinda? Yona? Hershel? sighs But, I must thank you for reviewing...luv ya.  
  
All: I entreat you to (please, please) comment on the story...it's something that all of you (lovely) reviewers need to remember....doesn't anyone care about Hinda? Hershel? Mier's silence?!? Aaaaaarrrggggggg! sighs sadly I still luv you all for reading...even all you no-shows. Uhhhhh...Chrischelle? Can I have my leg back?  
  
My apologies for not updating. My weeks are busy around this time of year, and my computer is really acting up. It takes a good two or three minutes of steady typing for it to appear on the screen. It happens all at once and is really quite amusing, however, it takes forever to correct grammar and spelling and suchlike.  
  
And as the wise pyrite-chan says, "Even though I have all the time in the world, I can't bring myself to actually write" Anyway, sorry.

* * *

Yona slipped off the palace grounds easily. The embarrassingly unbothered jaunt off the grounds made Yona uncomfortable. 'There should be some guards...sentries...anyone.' But despite Yona's musings, there were no soldiers, guards, sentries or anysuch on the ramparts.  
  
Yona sleuthed through the Royal Forest, and to a small neighbouring village, on the outskirts of which, a small cottage presided in a tiny clearing that wasn't really that clear. The 'clearing' had bushes of holly and heather, and pinecones from the towering pinetrees were scattered across the sharp grass. The branches and leaves from the last storm still lay strewn about, and a few yellow weeds were making their brief and usually unwanted appearance.  
  
The cottage itself was tiny. 'More a hut than anything else,' Yona thought, surveying it with disliked pronounced clearly on Yona's slight frame. The figure in black's arms were crossed and their posture rigid in the gentle breeze.  
  
The cottage was made of bricks, originally, but had been renovated and fixed-up so many times that that fact was hardly distinguishable. The outer walls had been painted white, but the elements and lack of cleaning had dulled it to a more natural shade of cream. The creeper vines had snaked their way up to the thatched roof and were currently working on the problem of growing on the thatch. The small plot of cultivated earth was situated directly infront of the creaking (Yona knew from experience) wooden door and seemed to be guarding the door from entrance. The two windows in the front of the building were quite small and the wooden shutters gave the whole cottage a picture of desolation.  
  
Yona pursed their lips and picked their way round the back of the cottage, where an old brown nag was kept in the shack that some misguided person had deemed a stable. The shadowed figure grabbed a handful of horse feed from the sealed container and placed it in the nag's trough. The horse looked at the person quizzically before burying it's snout in the trough.  
  
Yona stood beside the creature for a few minutes, glaring at the wizened backside of the cottage. It was just as unkept as the front, though there was no plot of earth that indicated planted growth. Quite suddenly the darkly clad figure stiffened and turned to face the woods. The woods were actually the Royal Forest, but it was hardly seen as that by any who had lived in the area long enough to count. A sweet singing was coming from the forest, and the sound of instruments.  
  
Yona listened closely. 'Yes, a fiddle, a lute? No, no, a harp...no harp. A mandolin. Perhaps a wind instrument...a flute, a piccolo? Neither, it sounds less sharp. Ah! The mellow and inviting sound of a wooded pipe.' All playing together, accentuated by the sharp jangling of a tambourine. Yona glanced back at the cottage, knowing full well of the commitment that awaited them there. Making a quick decision, Yona began to follow the music, deep into the woods.

* * *

From a hole in the back window shutter, an eye blinked as Yona left. The eye narrowed in displeasure. Yona's report was due. Yona had come, but had left. Why? The owner of the eye pulled away from the window shutter. Straightening, the person lifted slim fingers to their face, smoothing the eyebrows that were arched in anger. Perhaps Yona forgot something. But no, the way the shadowed figure had stopped to listen or smell, or something.  
  
"Yona needs to understand this," the waiting man thought. "That while in my service, people obey me, and that includes meeting times and places. I am very displeased." The man walked around the room, flexing his long fingers in agitation. He narrowed his murky brown eyes. 'This little scampering had better be worth it. Or else Yona will regret my being left here.' The man turned swiftly, his blue cape whirling after him.

* * *

Abby and Keosha reached their rooms without any troubles other than the ones they were wrestling with mentally. Keosha closed the door after Abigail. She watched as Abby strode into her room and shut the door, firmly. Keosha pursed her lips as she heard the creak of a bed that has had a body collapse on it. She paused before writing a quick note to Abby, informing her that she would be in the servants' quarters and to ring the bell by the door if needed.  
  
She placed it on the small table by the door where she hoped Abby would see it and left, praying to the Mother Goddess that her friendship was not being destroyed.

* * *

A traveller in the courtyard dismounted and sighed. His mind was wrapped up in his visit to one of the outer provinces. A groom rushed forward to take the reins to lead his horse away. He nodded his thanks absently and began to make his way into the castle. He glanced up at the gloomy castle around him and shook his head, his chocolate brown hair falling into his handsomely cut face. 'Why is it, that our King is truly rich beyond compare, but cannot even maintain a relatively respectable castle.'  
  
A sigh escaped his slim lips and he rubbed the back of his hand across his face, as a gesture of exhaustion. He trudged through the castle, his cloak billowing behind him. Gorison, the unofficial greeter smiled at him as he inquired after his journey.  
  
After exchanging pleasantries with the servant, the nobleman headed up to his usual room, where he happily exchanged his mud-spattered clothes for others and laid the former out for the laundry servants to wash. Because he had sent no word of his arrival, no one had been in his rooms to build up the fires. ' Not a problem,' he thought as he knelt infront of the hearth in the bedchamber, 'I build my own fires while travelling, I'm not above it here.'  
  
The man admitted the servants carrying his trunks, but brushed aside their offers to unpack for him.

Lying in his bed, the man went over the latest in marriage engagements. The Baron John of Lelly's Brook had betrothed his only daughter to a man twice her age, and even older than himself. It was a common practice, and a few of the nobleman's father's friends had wives half their age...or more.

But just because his Father's friends did it didn't mean he approved. Now, putting aside that an elderly nobleman could hardly satisfy a young woman's thirst for romance and adventure, there was always an exchange of lands involved. The girl's dowries were large as it was...but the perspective groom just happened to put some lands up for sale...very discreetly, of course and that just happened to be snapped up by the soon-to-be bride's father.... how convenient. The business of noble marriages was a nasty and dishonest business.  
  
The man shook his head and thought of the last time he had seen the Baron's daughter. She was blonde, as he recalled. Green eyes? No, blue eyes, yes, darker blue. A nice figure, and kind aswell. A handsome young lady by all accounts. And now this. She had a happy spirit, as his sister had commented after visiting. Would the girl's spirit be crushed at the thought of marriage to a man so much older and so hardened. The man was not only known for his monetary exploits, but those involving women aswell.  
  
For, this man thought, her future husband would no doubt want to take her as soon as possible. Which most likely left the girl little or no time to adjust to her new role as a married woman.  
  
The girl in question was the future Baroness Sophia of Lelly's Brook. And the groom? Ah, the groom was the Earl of Mattensworth, one of the most respected noblemen in business in the whole of Arulanthu. The young man on the bed pursed his lips slightly. 'Perhaps 'respect' is not quite the word. Fear, yes, fear. He is one of the most feared noblemen in Arulanthu.'  
  
But thinking of the Earl only made this young man think of his daughter, which was the subject he had been thinking on for most of his journey. His daughter, whom he had met but once. 'And that was not nearly enough to satisfy.' The man's eyes sparkled and the golden flecks in the irises became more prominent as he recalled her vivid multi-coloured eyes and her full, sensuous mouth. She was well proportioned. Such a tiny waist which seemed almost unable to hold up her larger chest area. The man shook his head as if to clear any indecent thoughts.  
  
Sitting up, the nobleman clenched his jaws together and prayed intensely to the father-god Solaro to banished these unfaithful thoughts that, like his memories of the Lady Abigail, seemed to danced lightly into his mind...and in his mind, her eyes consumed him.

* * *

Abby stared up at the ceiling of her room, studying the painting that graced it. The paintings portrayed a group of women sewing, embroidering and engaging in other domestic lady's arts in clusters. She mentally shuddered at the thought of such 'arts'. The noblewoman stopped actually seeing the painted people as she thought of her lack of caring where her friend was concerned.  
  
She blinked back sudden tears and bit her bottom lip. 'Why am I so thoughtless? Have I always been so?" She sighed and brushed her tears away. ' Am I such a lousy friend? Mayhap Sophia and I don't actually know each other either...Sophia!' She sat upright with the force of a crossbow. Her eyes were open wide, the irises of violet-grey enormous.  
  
It had been three days since she'd received Sophia's letter! And she hadn't bothered responding. 'That's three days, so if I had written back that day, my letter would have been there tomorrow,' she thought, calculating mentally. 'Except I didn't. And a letter won't be getting there for another four days. That's more than a week after she wrote!' She sighed with self-annoyance. 'I'm such a pox-marked cow.' She thought as she fell back onto the bed again, feeling that it would do more for her if it were made of the hardest stone ever found. She sighed again, thinking that she was running out of sighs. ' I'll do better. I'll go the palace's temple area to pray to the Goddess.' She got up, then tripped on her skirts. She landed with an undignified thud.  
  
Abby gasped in pain. She groped the thick rug; feeling like her right leg was being ripped off by some sort of beast with dull fangs. She twisted her body, trying to catch a glimpse of her leg. She stared at the metal spikes that were penetrated her flesh. The spikes fallen from the underside of her bed, and were slowly moving down towards her ankle. But slowly...ever so slowly. Abby lost her normal resolve and calm.  
  
Eyes wide as coins, she screamed the terrified scream of a petrified female.

* * *

oooookey dokey. Please review...and if you haven't ever reviewed before and have read my story, please but click that pretty little button below just to say 'hi' and that you ARE reading it.... it's much appreciated. Thank you,  
  
Galadvende


	14. Fade to Black

**Chapter 14: Fade To Black...**

Sorry all, I had a HUGE!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! problem with my computer, we had to get it fixed but the person didn't fix it right the first time AND the second time, so it took like fie days to get it started and on top of that, almost all my files were ALMOST deleted so we had to put them on disk, go on a fried's comp to re-format them, then replace the files on our comp....very annoying.

HAH!!!!!! Ohhhhh......! I win! Who wins? 'Vende does! Oh yes.....aha! New reviewers come my way! Yes, yes, yes!

I'm done. My apologies. A-hem.

Malista! (who deserves a capital letter for her name...which I like very much...and an exclamation mark....because I'm hyper): :) :) :) :) :) :) :) :) :) :) :) :) :) :) :) :) :) :) :) :) :) :) :). I know! (It'll be our secret that you're just a smilin' sweetie!) If you don't care for that...I apologise...hmmmm, that's twice already... I seem to do that a lot when I'm hyper....ooooooookay. Heh, heh, he- a-hem. I'm done now.

Chrischelle! (who's just so cool...and sweet and nice and pretty and loverly and beeeeeeautiful! So she deserves an exclamation mark aswell! Ahahahahhahahaha. Stopping maniacle laughter now. NNNNNNNnnnow. Aaaand now. Yona scares you. Well. I'm not sure if that's a good thing. By young love...do you mean Hershel & Hinda....Abby & Marcus DeBracey (who happens to be MIA)...Keosha & Antony Dewhurst? I'll assume Keosha...yes. Young love...very sweet! And if it is long enough....i'll find you all (even if we live on different sides of the world...different sides of the solar system...different galaxies! Sorry.) and give you a free copy (hardback!) of it! All of you....yes, YOU! My kitty and I are very pleased to see you again...and by the way: kitty meows disdainfully and thinks 'Of course I've grown....hhhmmmf.' she then turns and swishes her plumey tail under your nose....you rub your nose....her goal is filled. Double Chocolate!!!!!! Can I just say that I love you? Ok. I LOVE YOU!

Hello, hello, Manny! (oh dear...another exclamation mark...hehehehehehehe! Sorry)

I'm glad to know your reading...s'all I ask that you tell me....and you did more...many, many thanks (for both reading and for your complements). I hate being predictable.... sucks... like a monkey with a lollipop. AhahahahahahaOh dear...When the heck did I say that he said/thought we was her Father...I'm checking as I type...kinda...hold on. Found it! Ahem.

'But thinking of the Earl only made this young man think of his daughter'

That's it...right? I'll re-word it, kk? See, what I meant was the young man was thinking of the Earl's daughter. But I'll fix it none-the-less. Thanks for wondering to me....see any other mistakes that need fixing? I'll be glad to give a free batch of cookies (freshly baked) to those who tell me of my mistakes in other chapters...again, thanks. Yah, but it wasn't Gorison who wondered at the Earl's intentions...it was the dude whose name we don't' know...not the traveller...the guy who greeted them in Chapter 6. The Earls's an $$...I know. As long as you think he's stupid and rather evil...I'm good. My job here is done... or at least being done... hehehe. You know, I try to update....but I'm just crappy at when I've got all ze time in the world....heck, it summer....and I'm too bored to do a decent job for you guys.

Sleuthed: To track or follow. It can also mean to act as a detective or spy.

Kaio: Oui, oui...VERY evil....mwahahahaha!

Anyhoo, I love you all and for those who are reading but haven't said anything yet, I still love you all, but please just send out a holla to tell me your there...and now to write.

* * *

Gorison watched the young man walk down the corridor. He was one of the few nobles who took the time to chat in a friendly way. Except for... that new noblewoman. 'If my memory serves me, she was quite kind. And polite. What was her servant's name... Kara, Kiera, Keora? No,no... Keosha! She's quite lovely aswell.' Gorison smiled at the memory of the protective maid-servant. They were quite obviously friends. Must have been friends for a while. Shaking his head, the servant scratched at the oaken door of his master's anti-chamber. 

The kind voice entreated him to enter and the servant obeyed.

The man sitting behind the table looked up and pulled his green robe over his thin shoulders. He smiled and nodded towards the velvet upholstered chair infront of the table. Gorison sat, sending a quick prayer of appreciation and thankfulness to Solaro and Remaneen that his employer looked on his as an equal. The man with the greying hair bent down over his papers again and dipped his stylus _(A/N: little star thing...it won't let me do one here)_ in the ink well.

Gorison relaxed in his chair, waiting for his master to speak. Though they were on friendly term, his master and he, Gorison still held to his training: the noble initiates any conversation. Not that the man had anything much to say, really. There really wasn't anything off the top of his head that he though may interest the noble.

The man in the green robe sighed and set the stylus on the glass holder. Putting his bony elbows on the table infront of him he lowered his face into his hands. He stayed as though fixed for a minute or so, during which Gorison shifted slightly, and then set his rather weak chin in one hand and said in a perplexed voice,

"I have come to the conclusion that there is no (good) reason why the King insists upon staying here. He is, without doubt, wealthy enough to move the court to another, better maintained castle.

Or, which is less imposing on the coins, simply maintain this one. In his father's time it was a grand castle, full and bursting with gardens and life. Now, fewer and fewer nobles bother coming to court. The majesty and grandeur of Court Life is wearing thin, on all those who think of the adventure. The only people who still enjoy it are the young folk. But I remember a time, Gorison, when older people liked Court Life just as much as the youths. But it is not so, not anymore." The man shook his head sadly.

"Your calculations are complete, sir?"

"Oh yes. Yes, quite complete. There is no reason why his Majesty cannot improve the state of this castle, the army, and the defence systems around the castle." The noble shook his head in disgust. "But he won't. Our king blatantly refuses to spend his coins. Miserly old fool. He doesn't see that he is ruining his kingdom along with his court. For, as I have realised, if the court disintegrates, the nobles become unhappy without social intrigues, and many take it out on their servants and those who work their land or businesses. Ah, we nobles are a sad case, Gorison." The man smiled in a self- mocking way before continuing, "I would advise you to thank Solaro and Remaneen that your lot is not to handle the endless job of nobility. The tedium of servitude may well be preferred to wealth." The two men looked at each other before chuckling. Gorison shook his head slowly and said quietly,

"Have you any questions, milord?"

"Aye, who was that you greeted just now, in the corridor?"

"You know him well, Count. Your son has returned from his business in the provinces."

"Good. He was away longer than he is usually wont to. His mother and I hadn't known the date of his return." The man frowned. "He might have come in himself." Gorison reined his impulse to raise an eyebrow at the reproach in the noble's voice.

"If I may speak freely, milord...?" At the Count's nod of assent, the servant continued, "He is man of twenty winters, milord and is well able to keep himself out of the troubles of boyhood." The Count looked in surprise at his servant and friend of ten years. Gorison had known been the Count's close companion for over fifteen years, he had been another's manservant before the Count had employed him. It was rare, even through so long a friendship, that the man had questioned or reproached him, and the Count never dismissed his opinion. He was a valued friend, for all that Gorison was the age of his son, aswell as he was a priceless servant.

Gorison let himself out, leaving the Count to his considerations.

The Count leaned back on his chair and pursed his lips in thought. After a few minutes there was footsteps in the corridor outside and Gorison went out to greet the arrivals. While the servant did so, the Count mused on his son, whose interest in horseflesh and silver mines had already accumulated him a large fortune...one that, with one more year at this pace, would exceed the income that had would be his upon the Count's death. The income and his entrepreneurial skills already made his an attractive target for the young gentleladies who already flocked to him in light of his handsome appearance.

'Gorison is right...I need to relax my hold on him. Ah, my son is grown. And I am old.' The man smiled at the obvious statement as Gorison scratched on the door, discretely telling his master of the arrival of new people. The Count cleared his throat,

"Come in!"

The door opened for the Earl of Mattensworth.

_(A/N: corresponding little star thing)_ A stylus (as I recently found out) is a glass spun writing utensil. It is like the quills you all know (not the feather kind) but of that shape. The 'nib' part is spiralled to a point and when you dip it in ink, the ink flows down to the point where it flows evenly onto the paper your writing on. Stylus were originally made my the famous Venetian glass blowers in like the 1400s (around there..I didn't really research , no?

* * *

Keosha had been searching the Servant's Quarters for Gorison. Of all people, she decided, he would know where Natalia was. 

' She and I have some talking to do, 'bout that Bram fellow.' Keosha thought as she bumped and squeezed through the confined halls. She swatted off roving male hands and picked up her pace. She ducked into a small room just off the main servant's quarters hallway and sighed with relief to find if unoccupied. She looked at the series of small boxes built into the large bookshelf, the servant' mailboxes. She gazed at the small markings on the egdes of the boxes.

Because few servants were literate, marking one's name usually had no effect on the accuracy of the sorted mail. Each box had small tokens and a symbol to let the people know what job each servant held. Stableboys had a roughly carved horse with a rake across the animal. Scullery maids had a bucket and a frilly maid's cap. Personal servants, like Keosha and her cousin Natalia, had their master or mistress's emblem according to rank with a small 'p' in the corner of the picture. On Keosha's, a carriage (the symbol for Earldom and the close family of an Earl) was shown with the small 'p' in the corner.

She sniffed at the crude invitations of some foolhardy and arrogant male servants and continued on her search.

The young woman searched for Natalia's. If Keosha remembered correctly, because her cousin was the Queen's personal maid, it would show a small crown and a 'p'. She glanced up and down the rows of boxes, some crammed and spilling out, some empty save the remnants of their former eight-legged tenants.

When she finally came to a few such marked boxes, she smirked at the obvious decorations of her cousin's. Small sewing and embroidery needles were pasted to the rim, with a small card written in a crude but legible hand,

' This be the box of Natalia Jameson, Perzonal Made to her Royal Highnes, Qween Moraynne.'

As Keosha viewed the cards she felt a certain pride that she had secured such a position that allowed her to be literate, and to be able to smirk slightly at the atrocious spelling of her favourite cousin.

She dug into her deep pocket for one of the spare pieces of paper the kept there along with the tiny nib of pencil. She quickly scribbled out a note of her arrival and of her time without duties. She suggested they meet sometime convenient for them both before scanning it over. After a small hesitation, she added her Lady's rooms and the adjoining room she currently lived. Keosha signed her name and re-read the note.

She decided to keep the sentence of her arrival unmarred by a scribble. Though the castle's gossip chains seemed to be in perfect working order, somehow it seem polite to assume she hadn't heard.

The maid-servant slipped the note into her cousin's waiting box and deposited her pencil back into her pocket.

As Abby's friend crossed the main hallway, she glanced down one of the joint corridors. A nobleman was walking away from her, his broad shoulders slightly stooped, though he was a young man, if his waved brown hair was any indication. A twinge of recognition caused Keosha to pause. There was something about that stride...something familiar. She shrugged. She wasn't about to chase a nobleman down and ask him if he happened to know her.

She put the man and his annoyingly unknown identity from her mind as she made her way back to her rooms.

Nobles and their gaits could wait...she had only gone to find Natalia, and she was sure Abby would need her for something.

' Just as long as she doesn't tell me I can't come with her to visit Lord Dewhurst... and his sister' Keosha quickly added the other they were to call on. She smiled to herself as she thought of the young noble...the handsome young noble...very handsome young noble....

* * *

Abby's scream turned into a screech as the metal spikes retracted from her leg. Her eyes were wide with terror at the fact that the spikes were moving on their own. Moving jerkily, the spikes retracted from their exposed place, dripping her blood, and disappeared under the bed. She stared at the place where the spikes had been. Vague thoughts were drifting around in her mind, but they were foggy behind the pain and she hardly comprehended any of the thoughts. 

The last she recalled was staring at her leg, and watching the long rips in her leg seal themselves completely. Her vision faded into a foggy land, before it disintegrated into total black.

* * *

Aha! Cliffhanger....is she DEAD? Or merely unconscious? Was the main character actually Keosha all along?!? 

sticks tongue out at people who thought they knew her writing style I'm NOT predictable!

Ohoh, I have an question, or two. What is an 'OC' (not like the show) and a 'Mary Sue'? I can only guess that a Mary Sue is a character based on the author of the story, but I've no idea....please help me. I would be good to know the terms others use in their Author's Notes. And any other terms u know would be most appreciated.

OHOHOh! And does anyone know how to do italics and bold and indenting and centring and stuff? Thankyouthankyouthankyou, if you know! oh, and please review. Thanks.


	15. Lost: Compassion

**Chapter 15- Lost: Compassion**

* * *

Ok....you'd think this was a milestone chapter, no? I mean fifteen. 15. Nice number. Nice age (unless your 1,2,3,4,5,6,7,8,9,10,11,12,13,14, or 15). Well. Anyhoo. I've received four reviews as of yet....and I'm hoping for more....hint, hint.

Maybe it was necessary to kill Abby, Chris. I'm sorry if your throat hurts from screaming bloody murder. As a compensation for your screaming (not for your grief over Abby), here are some complementary throat lozenges...Halls, Eucalyptus. Hands Chrischelle a package while smiling sweetly

I'm glad we're all good with the cookie thing, Lalaith....but because of this confusion, i shall no longer give out cookies....please give suggestions as to what you'll be needing....thanks for telling me about the OC and the Mary Sue bit....anyone know how to indent?!? Centre?!? A little help, please...i'll ask again at the end of the chappie...

Nosilla- sup? Whadda think of Abby's death (er...possible death)?

Manny- I hope my explanation was ok.

Dances around in the New-Reviewer-Dance that some authors do EEEEEEEEEEEEEeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee! Guess who has a new reviewer...i do! hehehehehehehe! Kk, i'm done now....you should feel special, SukiYumi, that was in your honour....or maybe 'honoured' isn't quite the word....seeing as i'm a shitty dancer.

Kaio? Where are you? Where's my first reviewer?

Kylie...I realised that I've lied to you...we haven't seen Lady Jeanine yet....ok, a half lie, I apologise..oops looks around guiltily before batting eyes innocently Not working, huh? Hmm...pity, well to bad....read on!

* * *

Yona watched as the Gypsies made their way slowly through the forest. Watching their progress was truly fascinating. The closely growing trees never got in the way of the caravans. The caravans were narrower than regular carts and wagons, but still, a gap between two trees three feet from each other should not have accommodated any wagon. But still, it seemed that the magical bond between the gypsies and the forests and it's plants helped the nomads meander their way through the Royal Forest.

The young spy stayed parallel to the covered wagon of Mier and Hershel. These two did not socialise with anyone else. It was only the brothers. 'Their parents,' Yona wondered, ' Where are their parents?' Any number of places, prison, the stocks of some overly suspicious town, a city brothel, a village store...had the boys been sold to make ends meat? Gypsies were known to buy people's young from them, as much a mercy to the children as a business transaction.

But Hershel and his brother seemed content, and children who were displease with the arrangement stayed not for long. The two belonged, somehow, with the caravan, ' No.' Yona decided, ' These two were gypsies by birth.' He watched as Mier leant over the back of the wagon and plucked something from the underbrush. The small boy crushed a leaf of mint under his nose. The boy inhaled deeply and a look of delight briefly crossed his face. Mier jumped lightly from the wagon and walked back to where the mint was growing. He plucked a handful of sprigs before running to catch up with his wagon.

Suddenly a wagon crashing into the underbrush less than a foot near Yona's hiding place. He jumped back and looked up, meeting the eyes of a gypsy girl sitting on the back. Taking the wooden musical pipe from her mouth, the girl abandoned her melody in the music. She stared at him before smiling slightly, and jumping from her covered wagon. She came towards the shadowed figure and Yona slipped away.

Yona heard her youthful voice entreating him to come back, "Shadow-friend! Come back, do not run from us!" Yona glanced back, hoping she hadn't followed. Suddenly the person fell, and the ground rushed towards him. Yona's training took over and steeled themself for the fall. Yona smacked the ground as they connected with it and rolled. Quickly, Yona tried to get up, but a vine plant had wound itself around Yona's ankle; the cause of his fall.

Yona grabbed for the knife concealed in it's sheath, but hesitated. The shadowed figure remembered how the forest served the gypsies. Cutting it up, even simply to get away would not bode well with Yona's gypsy friends. The spy looked up at the crackle of leaves that announced the girl's arrival.

She sighed slightly and nodded towards the person's knife, "You'd not have gotten farther if you'd used that." She paused. "but you knew that, or at least suspected. Come. There was no need to run from us. You're welcome here, you know, well, so long as you are kind to the forest. At my request, the creeper trapped you," she said, gesturing toward the vine wrapped around Yona's ankle. The girl spoke with the same strange accent that Hershel sported.

Yona blinked slightly and glanced at the girl. At a close scrutiny, Yona's sharp eyes noticed a trickle of green sparkle running through the gypsy's body, using the same route as her veins. The girl noticed the person's gaze and raised her eyebrows, amused.

"All forest gypsies have a green magic, given to us by mother Remaneen at the dawn of time," Smiling, she muttered something even Yona's sharp ears could not dissect. The creeper vine imprisoning the spy detracted itself from the black-clad leg. Yona reached down and rubbed where the vine had entrapped the leg.

"Thank you." Yona muttered. The girl extended a brown hand towards the person on the ground, who accepted it and got up. 'That's the second time a gypsy's helped me from the ground, I hope it won't be repeated...' Yona mused as she smiled, saying,

"I am Hinda, and you, you are the elusive Yona, Hershel and Mier's friend. Any friend of Hershel's is a friend of mine. Well, of the whole caravan." She paused, but did not continue on that line, "Come back to the caravan with me, we shall greet them." Yona nodded and followed her, stepping wearily over the vine which had held him.

Meir sat quietly down beside Hershel. Still unnoticed, he tugged at his brother's sleeve gently. Hershel turned and smiled down at him,

"What is it?" Meir reached under the bench and showed his brother one of the peach coloured roses, one of the bouquet Yona had left for them. Hershel nodded, the bells in his hair jangling merrily, and commented,

"I thought our gershom would visit soon, you go greet him, yes, Mier?" The small boy nodded and disappeared, leaving his brother to muse over their friend alone. Hershel steered the sturdy ponies through a clump of trees, following the rest of the wagons. Glancing down at the seat, he smiled and picked up a sprig of mint that Mier had left behind. Hershel grinned and plucked a leaf, knowing this was Mier's subtle way of telling him he had not-so-fresh breath.

Crushing the leaf, the young man popped it into his mouth. The leaf's strong flavour soothed him and he turned his thoughts to the spy. Yona. Dove. Peace. The person masked their face and their body; their gender. What the young gypsy wondered was 'Why? Why did the person hide that?' They could not possibly be hired to spy on the gypsies, such a thought was simply amusing. Gypsies could not be spied on, their bond with their surroundings forbade it. 'The forest would know if Yona were spying on us,' Hershel thought confidently. 'Who could Yona be spying on, then? Someone at the castle? A noble...'

Hershel's good mood was brushed away by a brooding irritation. Nobles thought themselves above commoners. But whatever the nobles thought of commoners was praise when compared to their opinions of gypsies. Wanderers. Roamers. Homeless. Vagabonds. Rovers. Drifters. Strays. Castaways. 'Simply because we don't own land. What is so despicable about that? We do not have loads of possessions. We are ready to move. Ready to leave. Ready to travel. Most gypsies have been to more places than any noble ambassador. Any they despise us for it.' Shaking his head, the man urged his ponies on with a click of his tongue. Taking a deep breath, Hershel let his anger well up inside of him. Dwelling on others' opinions was not good. Remaneen and Solaro did not approve of unimportant anger. The man let his breath go, and with it his anger.

"Now," he said to the trees, "I am ready to receive my guest."

"Good." Hinda smiled at his surprise. She, Yona and Mier had just arrived, hearing the man's last comment. Hershel smiled back at her before greeting Yona,

"Ah, so you have come back to us! Good, good. I am very glad to see you again. I must thank you for the roses. They hang, as you see, in our caravan." Indeed, as Yona and Hinda leaned in, the roses swayed gently, hanging upside down from the beams, emitting their lovely scent. Yona nodded and said in a low voice,

"I trust you understood." At Hershel's nod, Yona seemed to relax and motioned jumping up to sit next to the driver. Again, Hershel nodded and Yona jumped lightly from the leaf-laden ground to the wooden bench. Mier and Hinda walked beside the slow moving wagon, listening to the conversation in the caravan.

"You are a spy." Hershel said without accusation.

"I am. Does this matter to you?"

"No, I simply wanted confirmation."

"I am, I am glad. You and your people are very friendly. I would hate to lose that." Hershel glanced sideways at the figure, clad in black as always. Yona swallowed and said in a slightly quieter tone, "I realise you three, and the rest of your caravan are mostly likely very curious about my identity." Hershel, Hinda, and Mier exchanged a silent look. Perhaps Yona would tell them...?

"I know you are wondering if I am male or female, who I am spying on, and why I hide it from you." Hershel smiled at his own predictability. "And I can hardly begrudge you that. But I must ask to reveal information only when I feel able to. I have been betrayed before...I do not believe any of you would, but I am cautious." Hinda smiled at the obviously uncomfortable passenger,

"We understand you well, tell us when you're ready." Yona nodded in thanks before saying with a soft sigh,

"I left my employer to hear your music, and he will not be understanding. His tastes lean towards knowing others' every move. I am currently investigating an individual whose struck interest in three people...at least, three have approached me personally. As far as I can tell, the person is kind, not condescending or haughty in the least. It is a waste of my talent and my employer's money to have me trail h- that person."

"I see." Hinda and Hershel ignored the spy's near slip and continued to listen. Mier looked up at Yona before slipping off.

Yona stayed for ten more minutes, chatting with the two gypsies. Before the person left, Yona turned to Hershel and said in a low voice, one low enough that Hinda could not make it out,

"Keep such as your doe with you, she will help you through times of grief."

Before the man could react, Yona had disappeared into the quickly-darkening woods. Hershel glanced down at the girl who walked beside him. Her dark brown hair caught the dying rays of the tree-filtered sun, lightening it slightly. Hinda's lips were small and plush, ready to smile at a moment's notice. Grey eyes that, along with her high cheekbones were legacies from her Marquion mother. She glanced up at him and, catching him staring at her she flushed through her tan, a dynamic crimson.

'The Two bless me!' Hershel realised with a start. 'She's a beauty."

* * *

"Ah! Welcome, please, sit. Would you care for some tea, or something stronger? Brandy perhaps?" The Count smiled in welcome as he offered the Earl a beverage. The Earl smiled slightly before replying,

"Brandy would be nice, yes."

"And tea for myself, Gorison." The manservant poured while the Count and the Earl seated themselves. When the Earl had his glass in hand, the Count sipped his tea before saying bluntly,

"I shan't waste court niceties on you, George. You rarely visit King James's Court. Why are you here now?" The Earl's eyebrow had flickered at the use of his given name, but he ignored it and said in an amused voice,

"Thank you for your concern. I was wondering after our last encounter if you would be as amiable yet frank as you were in the past. I do hope, John, that your son has found a different silver mine to terrorize?" The Earl was deliberately trying to bait the normally placid Count, but Marcus's father had encountered the Earl often enough to know when to react forcibly.

"Marcus was not terrorizing your mine and if it seemed like it, perhaps you ought to pay your servants more than half a week's pay per month. It would certainly cut down on the expenditure on keeping them in line." The Count's rebuff was delivered calmly, with no hint of anger. Smiling, the Earl continue

"Ah, yes, but my foremen have no objection to using a bit of force now and again. 'T would seem a shame to deprive them of their pleasure after having given it to them. And as we both know, raising wages is never a task I frequently perform." Here the Earl sipped his brandy and glanced at the papers on the table. A smirk lifted a hard corner of his mouth.

"Ah. So you too have seen the stupidity of the Court's location, hmm?" The Count did not answer, and the Earl didn't mind, he hadn't needed a reply. "Well, when you have the courage to tell him of your plans to move, do make sure that the King and his Court stay far from Mattensworth. The closer I am to court intrigues the worse my indigestion gets."

"You used to enjoy the antics of young people, George. You used to be a young person enjoying the Court."

"That was over twenty years ago." The Earl's reply was edged with warning, though the Count's reminder had been gentle.

"And twenty years ago you never would have considered using a whip on servants who are treated little better than slaves. You would have shown them compassion. Compassion. It is a word whose meaning is lost on you."

"I lost the word's meaning when the gods lost me. I banished the word and it's meaning from my mind when the gods forgot me. I have lost much, and having a arse-kissing suck-up such as yourself telling me I have lost my compassion is hardly gong to make me more compassionate, now, is it?" The man's voice had taken on a chill liken to ice, and his eyes were sharp as an assassin's knife.

"No. I don't suppose it would. But I only said that compassion's meaning is lost on you. You still possess the emotion. Though, true, it is hidden." The Count paused slightly. " You are welcome in the place, Earl, and I thank you for your company tonight. I will have my man Gorison will show you to your rooms himself." The Earl stood and placed his half finished glass on the oaken table. As he reached the door, the Count asked,

"Oh, and one more thing, your grace- would you like a servant bring you breakfast tomorrow or will you join the Court tomorrow morn at ten?" The Earl glanced back at him, sporting an irritated quirk of the eyebrow at the ridiculousness of the suggestion.

"Nay, I shall require breakfast to be brought to me at eight."

Count John watched the servant and the Earl leave, unsure of what had possessed him to ask after the Earl's dining plans. He smiled self-mockingly. He knew. Of course he knew. A small prick inside had warned him against asking whether the Earl's daughter was to be informed of her father's presence in the castle.

The Count stood, resolute. She must know of her father's whereabouts. 'And I shall tell her. This very hour.' The man gathered his papers and put them away, snuffed out the candles and left, making his way towards the Lady Abigail's rooms.

* * *

Ok, I still want to know how to indent and italicise. Please review this chapter and please actually comment on the story and/or the writing...its not that I don't like our banter, but I do (that would be italicised if I knew how to) need to know what you all think of it.

Many thanks, Galadvende

PS- Is Abby or Keosha a Mary Sue? (And by 'mary sue' I mean a perfect character...too perfect)

PPS- Ahahaha, you still don't know if Abby's alive or not...sorry, I had to get back to the Earl and the Count.

Anyway, please review!


	16. Dreams, Confrontations, and Plans

**Chapter 16: Dreams, Confrontations and Plans**

Well, I am certainly happy you found your way back, Nosilla! I'm glad I gave you a personal shout-out....makes me feel loved that there was a reason (or two) that you haven't reviewed brushes away tears but your back! And that's what counts, no? Yes!

Mwahahaha! Hello LindyLou78! I'll call you Lindy. Yes, yes, still hanging...Abby is dead...isn't dead....unconscious, perhaps? Who knows? Not me! I know, odd, huh? but I haven't decided what to do about her yet...maybe Count John DeBracey won't find out Lady Abby in time...hmmm.

Malista...I resent that comment. Finally, indeed! Hmmf! Okok....I see your point. I apologise. Bah.

Thanks to all who confirmed that neither of my darlings are Mary Sues....makes me feel better...ohhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh, kay, Chris....ummm, a mary sue's a bad thing....I'll have to change something.

Loving-Life- I'll call you L-L, kay? Good. I'm glad we're agreed. Did you know that that's the first glimmer of indignation I've got about the Green Coterie's Treatment of Keosha? I know...shocking, isn't it?...about Lord Antony...I do know that....but you're not supposed to. Have you seen the film version with Jane Seymour and Anthony Andrews? I love that one! And Armand is incredibly hot...pity he's really old now...no? Hehehehehe.

I realised that both Sophia's father and Marcus's father is named John and is a Count....they are NOT the same person...I didn't mean to confuse anyone....it just happened. I'm sorry, but by now you all know me, and I won't disappoint you....I'm not gonna fix it....so live with it.

Oh. I'm stupid. I've figured out how to indent and bold and italicise! Aaaaaaarrrrrrrrrrrrrggggggggggg! It's been under my nose the whole frickin' time! Damn it. Ok...calming down now.

* * *

Sir Marcus DeBracey slept fitfully in his cozy bedchamber. Two faces revolved in his mind; One a sweet-tempered blonde with alluring yet soft brown eyes. The other with dark chocolate hair and eyes of ever-changing hues. 

In his dreams, the blonde sat on a stone bench, in a garden, surrounded by hedges and small bedding plants. The other stood under a white trellis with roses growing through the white-painted wooden slats.

Where the blonde sat, a gate parted the hedges, giving him easy access to the beauty within.

The maid under the roses was veiled by a wall of thorns and Marcus strained to make her out between the prickles and leaves.

In his mind's eye, the young man watched as the blonde stood, a welcoming smile on her face. She walked gracefully towards him, holding in her arms a basket of pansies. When she was but a foot away and the man could make out the gold flecks in her eyes, she lifted her basket up to the blue sky and the sun. Suddenly the pansies seemed to be caught in a fierce wind; the pansies had truly been butterflies. They flew around the two in a flurry and Marcus saw the young woman hesitate, her smile faltering. He held out his arms in his own welcome and her smile grew, throwing the two into what seemed a dazzling sunlight.

As they embraced, the woman lifted her head, and Marcus's gaze fell upon her sweet face. A perfect nose with thin, graceful eyebrows, and a wide mouth, waiting. He leaned down to kiss her, and suddenly he was standing on the opposite side of the veil of thorns again, searching for a way in.

He tore at the thorns bare-handed, but they only drew his blood. He peered again into the rose garden, to find that the woman walked slowly and deliberately towards him. Her dark hair moved in a soft breeze that he could not feel. When she stood only a few inches away from the thorn veil, she look up at him through the tangle.

Marcus staring into the depths of her grey eyes and saw a look of expectation in them. She reached a small hand up to thorns, mirroring where his face would be. The young man watched as her hand penetrated the thorns and emerged, scratched on his side. She cupped his face in her hand and stroked his cheek with her thumb.

The young man was filled with an urgent need to hold her, to do away with the veil separating them. He began tearing at the veil again, only to bloody his hand more. Marcus looked down helplessly at her and she shook her head. She reached out her hands and penetrated the thorns again, making more scratched on her otherwise flawless hands. He watched as she grasped his arms and pulled him into the veil of thorns.

He cried out as the sharp thorns scratched his uncovered face and she winced with him, as if feeling his pain. When he was fully through the thorns, he collapsed, suddenly tired beyond belief. She knelt beside him, steadying him as he fell.

She placed his head in her soft lap and touched the stinging scratches on his handsome face. He looked up into her face to find her lovely eyes filling with tears. _Don't cry!_ He wanted to say, but his mouth refused to form the words. Somehow, she saw his distress and she placed a finger on his lips as if to stop his efforts. The young woman smiled tenderly yet sadly. A few tears fell on from her cheeks to his face and she brushed the liquid over his scratches. Suddenly the stinging sensation was gone and he felt refreshed.

He smiled up at her and moved to get up. As they sat beside one another, she brushed back a lock of wavy hair from his face.

Marcus studied her face. A sweet, narrow nose, her arched, dark brows over a pair of light-coloured eyes. She smiled, drawing his gaze to her small, pink mouth. He leaned in, praying she wouldn't disappear like the other woman.

Despite his prayers, the vision faded and the two faces revolved again. Suddenly, a figure appeared, a long, sharp sword in hand. The man stood in between the two women. He raised the sword and though Marcus struggled, he could not go to them. The man with the sword placed the blade first on the blonde's neck, then on the brunette's. His meaning was clear, which shall I kill? Who do you choose? The man pushed the women together and then to their knees, into the execution position. Standing behind them, he raised the glittering blade high over their head, prepared to strike.

Marcus tried to lunge towards the trio, but though he struggled mightily, he could not move! The swordsman's blade raced downward, and Marcus watched, helpless. The nobleman finally found his ability to move and speak, and as he hurtled towards them, he cried out,

"**NO**!"

* * *

The Earl followed the Count's manservant through the corridors of the castle. The noble's sharp eyes caught the fraying tapestries on the wall, hung to cover the mossy stones, the slightly dingy windows did not escape his notice, either. The formerly lush and cosy carpets on the stone floors were matted and had small holes due to an obvious rodent problem. 

' It is amazing that the Court is still in existence, if this is that the King treats them to,' the Earl thought, put off by the obvious lack of staff. His thoughts drifted towards the conversation that he and his former friend had just had. ' John was never one to mince his words.' The Earl tightened his grip on the papers in his pocket, papers concerning his daughter's marriage prospects, as he thought malevolently of the reference to his own time at Court. ' It was different then. There wasn't a fool on the throne. The castle was kept in order...the servants were many, and proper.' He smirked at the thought of the unattractive maidservants who cleaned in the hall. Such women would not have been seen twenty years ago.

He quickened his speed slighting, subtly pressuring Gorison to do likewise.

When they reached the Earl's rooms, the Count's manservant opened the door and bowed slightly, admitting the noble ahead of him. The Earl was slightly surprised at the man's behaviour. The Count, his former friend, had always been familiar with his servants...as a result, the Earl had assumed that their manners towards their superiors would be lacking, if only slightly, in respect.

Brushing aside this small but unexpected revelation, the Earl surveyed his room with a cold, calculating eye. The room to which he had been assigned had a theme of the sea; deep blues, greys with silver trimmings. Small, but pointed jibes at both the confrontation of the silver mines and the fact that, little known to most people, the Earl was prone to sea illness.

Though the Count knew full well that the illness was only slight and that the paintings of galleons and armadas on the rolling sea would not induce the Earl to misery, but it was the thought that counted.

The Earl glanced over the bed. It was overly large for a single gentleman, but as the Count well knew, the Earl never had trouble finding a bedfellow. The Earl smirked inwardly, knowing that the Count would have given him a smaller bed, but the Count knew that the Earl would have asked for a different room, and the Count most likely liked the sea- themed room too well to move him.

Without turning to the servant waiting quietly at the door to be dismissed, the noble said smoothly,

"Tell your master that the rooms are satisfactory and that his point was taken." The Earl's voice became curt, " Leave."

"As you wish." The man left the Earl alone, closing the door behind him.

Upon closer inspection, the Earl was impressed to realised that his clothes were already in the wardrobe and that the trucks stacked discreetly in the corner were empty. 'At least the servants are efficient, if not attractive.'

The Earl of Mattensworth observed the bed. Did he want company tonight? 'No,' he decided. It wasn't that his trip had tired him (the very idea that a mere trip could tire him that much was laughable), but that he needed to plan his strategy for his time at Court. Searching for a willing wench, agreeing on the terms, and the actual act would take too much of the time he could be using to both plan or to sleep.

He slipped between the satin sheets, hardly noticing the feeling of the material on his bare skin. Before he let sleep carry him off, the man thought briefly of his daughter.

' The girl can wait a few days. My letter explained enough.'

The Earl settled down to sleep, looking for all the world like any other noble.

* * *

The old, tall oak growing outside the Earl's window supported Yona with ease. The slight awareness that Yona felt radiated from each plant that the person past was a magical residue from the time spent with the Gypsies. 

The feeling was not unpleasant, but still, the feel of a foreign magic was unsettling. Yona brushed aside the feeling even as the spy brushed the water pooling on the black oiled cloak that concealed them.

So the Earl had arrived. And he slept alone tonight. How uncharacteristic of him. Yona shrugged, not too concerned with that fact. Many people slept alone, that was not what Yona's employer was concerned about.

Yona had met with the man who was paying to have the doings of the castle folk marked. The man had indeed been angry at the spy's avoidance the day before.

Remembering the confrontation, the spy smiled.

_"Few people would_ dare _to stand me up! And none of the people who would dare to are those in my employ! __I have a notion to discontinue your services. You are no use to me if you do not report!" The man had paused before continuing, sounding sure of himself despite a still angry tone, " In fact, it is more of a notion, it is my decision. Your pay will be in the agreed upon account at the National Arulanthian Bank by this afternoon. I will not be recommending you to anyone!" The man had made to march out of the small, rundown cottage. Yona's cool voice stopped him._

_"Ah, but as you well know, I am_ the _highest recommended spy and sleuth in all the Known Lands. Few actually know of me, and that is because I only accept offers that intrigue me. Offers that pay well. And few people are willing to pay what I would consider my services true worth." The spy snorted in amusement, " Your 'threat' of not recommending me to anyone is empty. I have no need of your recommendations." The man swivelled around on his heel to face the dark corner where Yona stood, leaning against the thick wall. _

_He narrowed his lips and eyes as he tried to discern the spy from the shadows. Failing, the man said loudly and angrily,_

_"You are fired, I do not need your services any longer! You may be the highest priced and the highest praised spy in all the Known Lands, but there are others who would willingly do what I need. You have too high an opinion of yourself, Darkspy. I will find another who will give me what I need, you are no longer needed." The noble turned, only to be stopped again by the other's calm, yet mocking voice._

_"Ah, but other spies are not quite as adept as I." The nobleman took another step before Yona continued in a lazy, unconcerned tone, "Besides. Others know not the information that I have already gleaned." Seeing the man's shoulder's stiffen slightly, the black-clothed figure continued, "Connecting the Earl of Mattensworth...the young lord DeBracey's betrothed...and, lastly for now, the personal maidservant of Her Majesty the Queen of Arulanthu." The man turned yet again, and glimpsed the white flash of Yona's grin in the shadows._

_' The spy knows me all too well,' the spy's employer thought. ' My interest in the Earl was far too evident.' Aloud, Yona's employer said,_

_"I suppose that before you even bothered investigating your assignment, you looked into my own history. You wanted to know what I would gain from such information. You wanted leverage in case such a confrontation as this happened. So you could blackmail me into keeping you in my service."_

_"You are a shrewd man...sort of. But I cannot render my ways to your doubtful knowledge. I can only say that you may draw your own conclusions. As it is, I assume that I am still in your 'service'." It was not a question, nevertheless, the man nodded,_

_"Yes, you sly child of impudence. But know that I shall never speak of you or think of you in happiness. You are a person of low morals, and I shall never tell others that you are pleasant to be in patronage with." _

_A harsh laugh escaped the Darkspy's throat, __"I am not ever pleasant to work with. No one recommends me, my reputation makes it's own way."_

_"A pity it made it's way to me!"_

_"Yes, I suppose, but then, you wouldn't know what the Earl's connection with the Queen is, now would you?"_

_"The Queen?!" The man face registered shock._

_"Oh, did I let that slip? So sorry. I had meant to wait. But, as you know a bit I might as well tell you, hadn't I....?"_

Yona grinned. 'And the fool fell for the bait, so like a noble! So I am still watching those nobles. How very, _very_ tedious.'

* * *

A woman with a dark, but clear complection glanced down at the jewels beneath her fingers. She was well aware that any one piece could feed her family's entire neighbourhood for a year. 

Such thoughts were few and far between when you had been serving the Queen as long as Natalia Jameson had. Ten years of faithful service had earned her the honoured position of the Queen's Personal Handmaiden.

During those years, Queen Moraine had become more a friend than either an employer or monarch. Natalia, unlike her more prudent cousin, could laugh with royalty one hour and be filching off a merchant's stall's with her thieving friends the next. Her acquaintances were the noblest of nobles and the commonest and the lowest of peasants.

She picked through the jewellery, pursing her rather thin lips together. Natalia called across the room to the Queen, her familiar language earning glares of disapproval from the stuffy elderly handmaidens and glares of jealousy from the younger ones.

"You'd look bettah with the sa-fies and puh-els set in silvah, in that dress at least, Your Highness. It's the set I mean," The Queen, used to the familiar tones and language replied with a slight shrug of her shoulders. She studied her reflection in her mirror before saying in her cultured voice,

"You think so, Natalia? I thought more the sapphires in gold would be fitting. Richer, yes, richer." She turned back to the mirror and looked in. The woman in the looking-glass gazed back at her.

'Twenty years as Queen have made a difference.' There were wrinkles beside the wide, unfaded eyes of gold, and though the cheeks still held colour, her jaw was not so defined. The fact that she was aging did not

surprise the woman in the least. Never a famed beauty, the Queen was rather known for her ability to mollify her husband's quick temper and her charm, then any striking handsomeness.

But the court knew that behind the driving power of their illustrious king, there was a stronger power. A sweeter, gentler power. The Queen, the King's soul. The King's love. Any rash or unwise action of the King was quickly worked around, not by the King's Council in a dreary room of the Royal Castle, but when the King and his wife talked late at night in their bedchamber. For the Monarchs of Arulanthu had a tradition strange to the Known Lands.

When a royal chose their spouse, politics stepped away. The royals of Arulanthu married for love only. Thus, separate bedchambers where not needed...not even thought of. Their nobles, however, even after centuries of said tradition, had not yet taken to abolishing the separate bedchamber business. The amount of unhappy unions in Arulanthu due to political meddling was just as high as in other Kingdoms.

The woman infront of the mirror smiled at her reflection. She had been lucky to fall in love with the King. Even luckier to stay in love with him...twenty-five years! A quarter century of love and joy.

The small unhappiness in their personal lives was due to the fact that their only children and heirs to the thrones had never been conceived. The Queen was not barren, she had been pregnant twice, and the child had died within hours of their birth. The thought of her children still sent a sharp jab of pain through her heart...her last miscarriage had followed just after her second completed pregnancy and birth...and death. The miscarriage had been painful and she had almost left the mortal realms. She thought she had even, though briefly, glimpsed the faces of the Two themselves. Kind, warm welcoming. A feeling of peace. Then a surge of pain and black.

But Moraine still held to her that she would be welcomed by the Two when she finally did pass on.

"Majesty?" The Queen shook her head for a second as she realised with a start that Natalia had been talking to her.

"Yes, Natalia, what is it? Forgive me, I was, thinking." The maidservant looked at her Queen, obviously concerned,

"I was asking if it was al'ight if you woe the silva' one, Mo'aine, Majesty." The Queen glanced at the set of earrings, necklace, ring and bracelet made of pearl, sapphire and set in silver and nodded. She looked up at the face of her most trusted friend,

"Yes, that will go well with my midnight blue dress, won't it?" At the woman's slow nod, the Queen smiled reassuringly and said, "I'm fine, I was simply thinking. Thank you for your concern." The Queen changed the subject, "How is Bram?" At the other woman's flushed face, the Queen laughed and whispered, "I'll not pursue it..." Natalia turned away, but not before she heard the Queen add one more word, "...yet."

Shaking her head with a smile, the maidservant placed the set in a separate, empty drawer and headed for the door, saying,

"Your Majesty will look ma'velous at the ball! 'Tis only two weeks away, and there's much still to do, eh, Majesty?" Her Queen nodded and told her,

"I am currently looking into the minstrals. I don't quite like the trumpets, though in their own right, I don't mind them, but I think we shall focus on the flutes. What do you think, then, Natalia?" When her maidservant and friend nodded in agreement, the Queen continued, "I'll give the head cook leave to employ as many people as he needs. Our Twenty-fifth Wedding Anniversary will be a night to remember! I still haven't sent out the formal invitations to those residing in the castle, however. Please remind me to do so tonight." Natalia nodded and changed the topic,

"I've hea'd my cousin of the outer p'ovences is in the castle. I'm off to see if she's left me note at all. I'll be back soon." She slipped out, ignoring the sniffs from the other ladies, indignant that she hadn't even asked permission.

* * *

Alrighty then, I'm sorry that I didn't write anything on Abby's situation...don't kill me. Anyway, please review! 


	17. A Find Or Two

**Chapter 17: A Find... Or Two**

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Heyhey! OK, let's aim for the big five oh! In reviews! Yay! That's 50! Please, please? I'm wondering how you people are gonna do that....seeing as so far I've got one review for last chapter and that was actually just someone commenting (cheering actually) that I had reviewed.

I still love you Malista! But you were a leeeeeeeeeeeeeetle brief. Yes! I updated! Thrilling, I know.

* * *

The Count knocked on the Lady Abigail's chamber doors. No answer. He knocked again, suddenly worried. . It was doubtful that the lady was sleeping, twas only nine in the evening. A third time he knocked, louder and more insistent than the previous two.

Still no answer. The Count frowned and fumbled for his master key to all the noble residences in the castle. Too many times a noble had forgotten their key in their rooms, having a key to them all was merely a way to ease the Count's life slightly.

As the key was turned in the lock, the man heard a satisfying 'clink!' and withdrew the key. He entered, calling softly,

"Lady Abigail? My Lady? Are you in? I have need to speak with you. Lady Abigail?" The man made his way through the sitting room and towards the bedchamber. The door was closed, with no sound behind it. A tug of urgency made the Count discard any apprehensions about invading the lady's privacy and he swung open the door.

It had still been daylight when Abby had fallen and the metal spikes had plunged into her, before retreating under the bed again, so there was no lights in the room. The Count fumbled at the tabled near the door, looking for the flint and candle. Finding it, he quickly lit a few candles before turning to find the prone body of the Lady Abigail on the floor.

"Lady Abigail!"

* * *

The Count rushed to the maiden's side, and bent his head to her mouth to hear her breath. It was a shallow, quick sound. 'Still alive, thank the Two!' The Count stared at the pool of blood that had soaked into the thick rug on the floor. The cut on her leg was still bleeding heavily. 'The loss of blood was what made her unconscious.' Quickly, the Count rushed out to the sitting room where a set of bell pulls hung, hidden by a tapestry.

The silver plates upon which the corresponding receiver of the summons was engraved was dirty, full of grime. The Count rubbed them vigorously with his coat-sleeve before trying to decipher the writing.

He read the plates, 'Kitchens, Maids, Scullery, Stables, Where on Earth is the Healing Quarters?' The Count glared at the four bell pulls in anger. He leaned further in, and spotted a fifth cord. He scrubbed at it with his sleeve and read with hurried satisfaction, ' Healers'.

The Head Healer jumped at the sound of the bells, spilling hot tea on himself. 'Damn those nobles!' he thought, hurrying to find the bell responsible for his spill. It rang again, and longer this time. Quickly memorizing the room, the Healer grabbed a passing Healer, and told her,

"Bring my healing bag and meet me at the North Wing, Top floor, Second Room to the left from the Grand Staircase, hurry!" As the other Healer ran off, the man ran in the opposite direction and towards Lady Abigail's rooms.

Meanwhile, the Count had rung the bell several more times before returning to Abby's side. He stared in horror at the amount of blood on the rug. Running out into the hall, the noble spotted a young scullery maid,

"You there! Yes, you, come here at once!" The maid came at a run, seeing the urgency etched upon the Count's face. He led the girl into the bedchamber and steadied her as she swayed at the sight of the noblewoman. She shook her head and said in a faint but sure voice,

"You'll be needin' to bind the wound, Your Lordship." She walked carefully around Abby and to the bed, where she preceded to rip off a strip off the sheets. She knelt at the noble's feet and preceded to wrap the strips about Abby's still bleeding calf. The blood soaked through the make-shift bandage and the maid reached up to rip more.

The Count handed her already ripped pieces of sheet. She took them and wrapped Abigail's calf again and again.

Suddenly, they heard voices in the hall, getting close and closer. They looked up when the two healers entered, cloth healer's bag in hand. The two wasted no time in examining the noblewoman.

"We'll have to get her to the Healing Quarters, quick- time." The woman Healer reached into the bag and pulled out a vial full of a glowing substance. She opened it and stuck a finger it. With the covered finger, she touched her coworker and their patient on the forehead. She turned back to where the other two were watching.

"Who bound her calf?" The Count pointed to the scullery maid. The Healer nodded, saying, "You just may've save her life. If she'd bled any more, it's a good chance she'd be dead by now."

"Then she'll be al- alright?" The Count's hesitation mirrored his worry and the other Healer looked up and said irritably,

"We don't know. She's lost too much blood for an easy answer. Now can we transport her or are you going to keep talking?" The Count looked baffled as the first healer shrugged and muttered sharply,

"Transport!" The substance she had dabbed on their foreheads glowed and in a moment they were gone.

The maid and the Count stared at where they had been for a moment, before the maid turned to the Count and dropped a curtsey, saying,

"I'll get someone to clean that up for you, Your Lordship, sir." The Count nodded, still shocked at what he had seen. The maid left, leaving him alone, staring at the pool of blood.

* * *

Keosha opened the door of hers and Abby's rooms. Strangely enough, it wasn't locked. ' I could have sworn I'd locked it,' Shrugging, she entered the sitting room. She looked about for a candle and flint, none. She turned in the dark, looking for a table.

Suddenly she noticed that there was a light filing through Abby's door, which was open slightly. She walked over to the door and knocked,

"Abby, I'm back. I've left a note for-" she broke off with a gasp as Count John opened the door. She stared at him in surprise before asking with a slightly accusatory tone,

"What are you doing in my lady's bedchamber, your Lordship?" The Count frowned and said in a gentle voice,

"Lady Abigail has had a bit of an accident while you were out, Keosha. She is in the Healer's Quarters now." Keosha turned pale and suddenly she wove around the Count, who had been blocking the view of the room, and so the blood stain.

The woman gasped as she took in the scene. A sheet off the bed, torn. The pool of dried and drying blood staining the thick rug on the floor. Her mouth opened, but no sound emerged. The Count braced himself to catch her, but the handmaid was made of sterner ingredients than that.

Keosha closed her eyes and took a deep breath. "Were you the one who found her, Sir?" The Count, who was surprised by her slightly shaky, but otherwise calm voice, replied,

"Yes, yes I was." Keosha turned to him, her brown eyes wide. "I must go see her at once, Sir, if you would excuse me." The Count nodded,

"Of course, of course, child. In fact I shall escort you there myself, seeing as you a fairly new to the castle." Keosha looked at him sharply before saying in a hurried tone,

"Nay, 'tis alright. I know my way to the Healing Quarters." The Count nodded and said,

"None the less, my dear, I would feel better if I escorted you myself, and I was ready to visit your mistress anyway." The handmaiden nodded her assent and they left together.

There was no conversation between the two. Keosha was too overcome with worry for her friend to think of making small talk, besides, a servant never initiated conversations with nobles; it wasn't done. The Count was also worried for Abby, but he was also worried about the Earl. 'Should I even bother him? He would hardly welcome an interruption in the night, never mind that his only child may be mortally wounded!' Because the Count was occupied with wrestling with his conscience, talking wasn't a priority.

So silence reigned while the maidservant and the Count walked to the Healing Quarters.

* * *

Yona had heard the bells. The spy had been ready to leave when the person had heard them. 'The castle-folk gave up using them years ago...too many didn't work. Why're they using them now?' Yona mentally shrugged. Finding out what happened at the castle was Yona's job, and the spy intended to do it...whether the person had to blackmail their employer or not.

Yona quietly jumped from the oak tree to the Earl's window sill. A quick inspection of the interior handle was all the Darkspy needed to figure which of the tools in their belt that they needed. A quick rub of a special oil and a few pries with a special utensil and the window opened.

Yona glanced at the Earl's sleeping form before stepping quickly and gracefully into the dark room. The spy closed the window behind them. Having the Earl wake up cold and suspecting something was not on Yona's 'to-do list'.

The spy walked along the wooden beams that supported the ceiling of the corridors in the castle. Somehow, walking on the deserted corridors using the floor was just to easy for the spy. 'Anyway,' the person reasoned, ' People are hardly doing to see me here, are they?' Satisfied with their reasoning, the darkly-clad figure continued their leaps from beam to beam, watching beneath them for any people who may have some interesting information.

One such person came along, hauling a soapy bucket and a scrubbing brush. The scullery maid turned a corner a head of Yona. The spy jumped beams quicker to catch and keep up with her. She was muttering to herself,

"These nobles! Always getting themselves hurt or killed or whatnot! Then that Count, standing about staring like a ten-eyed dog! Ah well. At least the Count's a decent sort." The spy knew that the maid spoke of the Count DeBracey, 'But who got themselves hut or killed, I wonder?'. The girl was still speaking,

"Blood! All over that carpet! It'll take hours to scrub it properly and days to dry it! Honestly, don't these folk realise that someone cleans the messes they make?!" She stopped and put down the bucket. The spy above her, not expecting a sudden stop over balanced on a beam tripped slightly. The scullery maid rolled her shoulders before continuing her walk down the corridor. Yona, hanging from one of the beams, strained to pull themself back up. 'She could at least mutter something about her shoulder aching so I know when to stop!' the spy thought unreasonably as they began leaping from beam to beam again. The maid was still talking,

"...an that poor woman, wonder what she got jabbed with? Those were deep cuts! Hope those Healers can save her, but then, they _are_ Healers after all's said and done!" The scullery maid placed the bucket and scrub brush on the floor infront of a door and fished out a ring of keys.

The spy waited until she had opened the door and turned to pick up her things before slipping stelthily into the room. A candle still burnt in the bed chamber, and the spy guessed that therein lay the 'mess' the maid had muttered about. The scullery maid entered the room, Yona following closely behind. The spy stopped just inside the door, beside a small table. The maid began to light other candles, gradually illuminating the room. Yona glared at the maid. 'Stupid little bugger, making it harder.'

The Darkspy quickly and without undue notice, exited the room, and peered around the door to view the room. The spy raised an eyebrow at the vast stain that the maid was beginning to scrub. It stretched from the edge of the bed to about two and a half feet from the edge. The original 'Hmmm....I'm surprised the noblewoman was alive enough to take to the Healing Quarters with that amount of blood gone!'

Yona didn't bother to find out who it was that had soaked the carpet with their blood. Whoever it was, they would be in the Healing Quarters, which was where Yona was headed.

* * *

Natalia smiled as she read her cousin's note. 'Well. I shall just have to visit he', then, won't I?' the Queen's handmaiden smiled as she headed towards the castle's pathetic excuse for gardens.

Just as the actual castle was in disrepair, so were the Royal Grounds aswell. The famed rose gardens of old were gnarled, unkept masses of thorns now. The patterns and designs made of bedding plants were now patches of dirt, with the occasional leafy bunch here and there. The hedges were overgrown and the white fences needed repainting.

Nevertheless, Natalia hurried into the former gardens. The woman glanced around, hoping she was unobserved as she reached the tall, bulky hedges. She plunged her hand into the bush and felt around. Nothing. 'Curse them! They had better' have put it here' She dug her other hand into one of her deep and bulging pockets and pulled out a small glass ball. Natalia muttered the trigger-word and it began to glow a steady light. She plunged her whole upper half of her body in to the hedge, searching.

"Hah!" She grinned and plucked the small package from the bush. "Gotcha!" she muttered, very pleased. She shook and brushed herself off, ridding herself of the hedge's small leaves. She glanced around again, and, seeing that she was alone, she pulled out a small, sheathed knife the size of her middle finger.

Natalia cut the cords binding the rough cloth and exposed the package's contents.

She gasped as the cloth fell away to reveal a handful of diamonds; each of the stones were clear and exquisitely cut. Natalia's mouth fell open in shock before her instinct took over. She wrapped the stones again before shoving them back in her pocket. ' What could the Queen be wanting with diamonds?'

The Handmaiden entered the Queen's sitting room and held up Keosha's note,

"Well, she's he'e!" The Queen smiled and beckoned her closest friend to the small sideroom where she sat, her face revealing nothing other than welcome. Natalia entered the room and closed the room behind her. The Queen turned, her calm demeanor gone. She grasped Natalia by the shoulders, her normally tranquil face gone.

"Do you have them?!" she hissed.

* * *

Posted on the 2nd of September, 2oo4....nevermind, the 3rd...damn, so close.

author's note: I'm dropping Natalia's accent when she thinks...it's a bit annoying as it is.

Please review, i'm going for 50 (don't laugh, it could happen if you people who just read would actually click that little button once in a while...don't mind me, i've got problems)


	18. Romance: Sweet Romance:BitterSweet

**Chapter 18- Romance: Sweetened — Romance: Bitter-Sweet**

* * *

Note to All: as the stupid site refuses to let me use asterix (es? Is there a plural form of asterix?), I shall narrarate my movements by using these .: smiles as you all nod:. Okok? Good. Just so we're all on the same page.

Hehehehehehehehehehehehehehehehehehehehehehehehe .: continues to giggle like a maniac for a few minutes:. Yes, as most of my faithful (or not-so-faithful) readers have figured out, I got a new reviewer!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! Hello, hello to Alicia...who, despite being 'totally morbid' lifted my spirits (I'm sad because I have to go back to the fires of hell...for those who are completely out of it or are just reading this later than immediately published...I mean school). OHOHOHOHOH! Make that TWO new reviewers! Hello to FouFou...who I'm calling Fou. Thanks for reivewing and letting me know your reading!

OH YEAH! Another new reviewer!!!!!!!!! hehehehehehe .: does another stupid little dance:. Hehehehehe. Charming Visions. Very nice name...I like it. And thank you, I'm really enjoying it too!

Hehehehe, I love all my reviewers. The question is: do I love or even like those who simply read? Hmmmmmmm, something to think on.

Okok, thanks Chris, I wasn't sure....glad you luv 'em all! You may not want to hug me to near suffocation when I remind you that she is not recovered....she may not recover....and yesyes....I updated....won't happen as often now that I'm back in the fires of hell. And thankyouthankyou....as I write, I am currently at 47 reviews....is three more so much? Pleaseplease reivew! Oh wait...the goal was for last chappie....hmmmmmm, if you didn't review, go back....

Kaio, where are you?

Loving, hehehehehe you said it was an amazing story...sorry, very easily pleased. Yesyes, suspense, mystery, and romance.....:sigh:. Hehehehehe (sorry, I'm on a giggling spree). Hehehehehehehehehehehehehehehehehehehehehehehe....I'm done. Yaya...GREAT movie! Simply lover-ly. And then there's Armand.... .: drools over the twenty-something year old hot guy....:. Oi. So, so hot. Kk, done now.

Malista!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! your name is so cool.....especially when you draw out the ahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh sound....hehehehehehe. She's not dead! I know! Like I said to Chrischelle, she hasn't recuperated yet...she may not.

I'm sorry it took so long for me to update, but now that school's back in I don't quite have the time anymore. Again, sorry. Wow, I've realised how much I write before I even get to the story...not good.

...I'm listening to romantic music, it follows that I'm in a romantic mood....what'da say? Shall we have a romance scene...?

* * *

Hinda smiled as Yona left, leaving she and Hershel alone. The spy hadn't stayed for very long, but in that time the gypsies were very close to their next stop. Not so close, however, that the Gypsy Master did not order a brief stop.

Hershel swung down from his seat and began to check for any problems. Hinda watched him for a few seconds before looking over and checking the ponies' harnessing. The young man noticed her examination, but did not comment. He checked over the wooden iron-shod wheels as she pulled and prodded the harnessing.

The Gypsy Master signalled the move-out and the two young people prepared to keep going. Hershel hesitated as Hinda resumed walking beside the wagon. The young woman paused as she realised that the wagon was not beside her. She walked back to where Hershel was standing holding the ponies' harnesses, watching her.

"If you want to be left alone, I can leave. You just have to say." A wave of alarm brushed over the young man's face. That was the last thing he wanted! Or was it? He had newly discovered Hinda's beauty, not to mention that he was realising her beauty was not only physical. Did he really want to be around her? Hinda watched first the alarm then the confusion flicker over Hershel's face. She bit her lip before saying in a would-be light tone,

"I'll leave you be, then." She turned to go and Hershel panicked slightly. He didn't want her to go! Yes, he did! 'For Solaro's sake!' Hershel thought, annoyed that to be so confused.

She was six feet away before Hershel had made up his mind. He quickly caught up with her, and touched her lightly on the arm. She turned, hurriedly fixing a smile to her face.

"I, uh..." Hershel paused, feeling very, very nervous. "You can stay, I mean, I don't mind...at all." A bright, sincere smile burst through the smaller, fictitious smile. The girl quickly schooled her features, inwardly furious at her such obvious pleasure.

Hershel watched as her eyes went from (falsely, he realised) inviting to elated to calmly pleased. Hinda began walking back to the wagon and Hershel followed. The head of the caravan began moving and soon it was Hershel's turn. He hesitated and Hinda looked up, a waiting look on her face.

"We going?" Hershel nodded and said after a moment,

"Yes, but you don't need to walk." He hopped down to where she stood and nodded to wards the seat, "Sit with me, please?" She smiled, pleasure lighting her eyes. She placed her foot on the wheel and grasped the seat to help herself up.

Hershel mentally smacked himself. He quickly placed his hand on her waist and boosted her up to the seat. She looked down at him in surprise and he saw that her cheeks were flushed a becoming pink. He settled himself beside her and she handed him the reins. Her fingertips brushed his palm where she dropped the strips of leather. They both glanced at each other and Hershel felt his breath catch in his throat.

She looked away, and smiled as the wagon began moving forward.

They rode in slightly embarrassed but companionable silence for half and hour or so, until the Gypsy Master announced their new camp.

"Here," he said as the drivers directed their wagons into a circle around him. "we will stop here for two weeks. We are an hour's walk from the village on the out-skirts of the capitol. We shall bring our wares into the village in three days. After that, you are free to do as you will." The Master raised an eyebrow and smirked. "That does not include wooing the local village girls, or for girls and young women, flirting with the men...'tis cruel to tease them." The gypsies chuckled and the Master smiled.

"That's all for now...set up and be about your business."

The Gypsies began setting up with gusto....and noise. Hershel and Hinda jumped from his wagon and looked at each other across the seat.

"Uh, it was, um, nice having you here," Hershel stammered. Hinda's lips twitched slightly as she replied that she had enjoyed it. "I've got to get back to my wagon. I'll be seeing you." Hershel nodded and watched her leave, his green eyes following her progress.

He noted her light step and the way her dark hair swished down the length of her back as she walked. He saw how her smile brought other smiles back to her. He marked her slim form, the way she moved silently. 'She wears no bells.' Hershel realised. ' Everyone wears bells. Well,' he amended his thought, ' Every Gypsy wears bells. Why doesn't she?'

* * *

Meir watched his brother watch Hinda. Meir smiled. The boy quite liked Hinda. She didn't expect a reply from him. And when he did try to communicate something, she understood, or close enough. 'This is good,' the boy thought. Though he was only ten, Meir understood far more than most children his age. He understood that it was not so simple as Hinda liking Hershel and Hershel liking Hinda. There had to be a certain _something_ there. It was something that the Caravan Master and Mistress had. Something Mignon and Selig, Hinda's parents had. Mier shook his curly head. Hinda and Hershel would just have to spent time together. Maybe that something grew with time.

And Mier would arrange just that.

The boy heard his brother calling him. 'He must be done watching her,' the boy thought.

Hershel was indeed done watching Hinda. He was unpacking the essentials for setting camp. He motioned for Meir to help.

With a tiny, inaudible sigh, Meir went to help. He would put his plan into action.

Later.

* * *

Keosha sat by Abby's bedside, unsure of what to do. The Healers had let her into the room only a few minutes ago, after a long hour of waiting.

'And that's still what I'm doing,' She thought bitterly, ' Waiting.' The Count had only looked in briefly before leaving, saying he needed to check on something. Keosha had heard him, but vaguely. She stared at her friend's pale face.

Abby's hair was a mess. Keosha reached out to smooth it. The maidservant bit her lip to keep from crying. There was a tingling in her nose anyway and Keosha closed her eyes to keep the tears inside. Abby wouldn't want her to cry.

The white of the patient's clothes paled her face dramatically, but Keosha knew that she was pale without it. Her dark eyelashes were fanned against her white cheek, contrasting with Abby's pallid skin.

A Healer walked in and wordlessly took the noblewoman's pulse. The Healer uncovered Abby's leg and stripped the bandages. Keosha looked away from the neatly stitched wounds. The woman took from her pocket a small tin container and unscrewed the lip. Keosha watched as the Healer took a dab of the white cream inside and smoothed it over the wounds.

The Healer muttered something that Keosha didn't even try to hear. The cream on Abby's calf blazed with a bright, white light that hurt Keosha's eyes. The Healer made nodded, seeming pleased. She brought a roll of bandages from her pocket and wound it about the noble's calf.

After she had pinned the cloth down, the Healer collected the cream tin and slipped it back into her pocket before gathering the used bandages. She turned and was almost out of the doorway before Keosha's voice and throat would cooperate enough for her to force a noise out.

"Please, please...how is she? No one will say anything." Even to her own ears, she sounded pathetic. Above all, Keosha hated that. But she needed to know. The Healer had paused and turned, her hand on the doorframe. She looked at the woman on the bed before returning her unblinking gaze to Keosha.

"I won't hide from you that whatever got her, got her good. The wounds were deep. We cleaned them thoroughly before we stitched. The wounds themselves are fine. They should heal."

Keosha took a deep breath and said in a voice a lot calmer than she felt,

"Yes, but what will happen to her?" she hesitated, "Will Abby be alright? Will she, she d- she'll live...right?" The Healer's face sofened slightly as she said quietly,

"She lost so much blood. We have no way of knowing if her body will accept blood from another safely. We daren't try." The Healer looked down the hall outside the room before continuing. "I am sorry, but for your own good, it would be best it you said your 'good-byes'."

The Healer turned and left.

Keosha stared after her for a few moments before turning her gaze back to Abigail.

Lady Abigail of Mattensworth. Abigail. _Abby_.

Keosha felt her throat constrict as her stomach fought to reject it's meagre contents. She stumbled from the bed towards a metal bucket near the door which was serving as a waste bucket. She knelt beside it and vomited.

In a way it was a relief to let something out. So many emotions were running through her mind, too many. She knelt over the bucket for a while, even after she was finished. The tingling in her nose started again and this time Keosha didn't even try to stop the flood of emotions that now escaped from her in the form of tears.

She crawled back to the bed, where a tin pitcher of water and a tin cup had been placed on the table beside it. She lifted herself awkwardly back onto the wooden chair. With quivering hands, she poured the water from the pitcher. When the cup was half way filled, the woman replaced the pitcher on the table and lifted the cup to her lips.

Keosha couldn't make the cup connect with her mouth, her whole body was shaking. She grabbed the arm holding the cup with her other hand and forced it more or less to her mouth. When she opened her mouth, she realised that her teeth were chattering.

She couldn't drink. With a cry of pure emotional pain, the woman let the cup fall from her hands to the stone floor. She fell, sobbing from the chair to join the cup and the spilt water on the floor.

And she cried.

* * *

Meir and Hershel sat with their cloaks wrapped around them and stared up at the full, creamy moon. The brothers were lying on the temporary wooden roof, that was supported by four thick poles. The roof was put up against rain...but the night was cloudless and the brothers saw no impediments to stop them. They chewed the mint leaves that Meir had picked in companionable silence and they thought their separate thoughts.

Meir was thinking of the parents he had never known. Thinking of the parents who he know nothing about. Save their names. Hava and Murchoch. He knew their meanings. Hava, meant life-giving. His mother. Hava was Gypsy. That much he knew. But Murdoch was no Gypsy name. Meir had listened and searched hard to find out what Murdoch was from.

About a year or so earlier, Meir had ventured into one of the villages where they were selling their wares. He sought out the local instructor for the children and asked him what the name 'Murdoch' meant and what language it was in and what country it came from. The Instructor had told him that Murdoch was a Sholtish name meaning 'mariner'. Meir had spent the afternoon with that educated man learning about the Sholtish people.

He learnt that the Sholts are known to have red hair with light eyes. That they come from a small island and are great warriors according to their neighbours' legends. Their men were handsome and their women lovely...in a fair, blonde way. He leant that the Sholts wore a fabric unique to their small island nation, Sholtland. The fabric was of a weave so tight and each clan had a specific pattern for said fabric. They seldom travelled by sea, having all necessities on their island.

So Meir knew that his father was probably a Sholt. What he did not know what why his Mother and Father had left them. Hershel had not said anything about them, it was the Caravan Master who told Meir his parent's names.

But Meir was also thinking of Hinda. And Hershel. And Hinda and Hershel...

* * *

Hershel was also (predictably) thinking of Hinda. He knew that she liked to watch the stars and the night sky. He knew that she liked to dance. He knew she was a skilful dancer. He knew that she had more Light than most in their Caravan, though Hershel himself had an unusual amount.

What he didn't know was if she had any regard for him other than as a friend.

Hershel made up his mind. If she didn't like him, she would say so. If she did...well, they'd see how that would turn out.

Hershel slid off the temporary roof of his wagon. He landed softly on the ground and walked around the inner circle of the caravan circle.

The bonfire was in the middle and there were only people sipping from ale or tea from mugs on their wagon seats tonight. Tonight, there was no dancing...yet.

By the time Hershel reached Selig, Mignon and Hinda's wagon, he was thoroughly nervous. Not that he looked it. His broad shoulders weren't tense, and his face was the picture of calm. Hershel took a breath and stepped infront of Hinda. She looked up, surprised, but pleased to see him.

Hershel held out his hand and with his other, gestured towards the crackling bonfire. He was issuing a traditional Gypsy invitation. The one made to the girl or woman from the man. He was offering himself in the form of a dance. If the girl turned her head away, she rejected him and any possible courtship. But if she placed her hand in his, she was telling him that she was interested.

The entire Gypsy Caravan watched as Hershel waited, his strong hand outstretched towards Hinda, his face a gentle plea. For those two, it was if the rest of the world had disappeared. Hinda looked into Hershel's green- brown eyes and he into her own green eyes. Her gaze fell to his hand, waiting.

She smiled slightly and placed her slim hand in his large one. He smiled in return and pulled her gently up to a standing position.

Meir watched as Hershel led Hinda towards the bonfire. His young eyes noticed how serious they both were. The rest of the caravan was silent....the rest of the caravan was watching.

Hinda swallowed hard and placed her other hand in his. A musician began thrumming an old Gypsy song on his mandolin. And slowly, Hershel led Hinda in the dance.

They danced slowly at first, than faster, becoming more attuned to the other's movement and body language. Then their dance slowed again, back to a slight circular movement, then finally down to a gently sway. Hershel moved his hands to Hinda's waist and she ran her hands tentatively and sensually up his leanly muscled arms. He smiled at her, happy that she was not so shy about touching him and excited that she was.

Hinda felt her heart beating, the rhythm was so fast that she wondered vaguely if Hershel could feel it. She gazed up into his handsome face and he bent his head to look into her face. A lock of hair fell onto his brow, covering his right eye. She smiled silently and brushed it off his face, and the small touch made Hershel feel giddy and ecstatic.

Suddenly Hershel _knew_. He knew that whatever it was that made him feel like this wasn't simply liking Hinda. No, this was far sweeter, far more poignant, so much more beautiful than mere friendship. Hershel stared at the girl, the young woman who had captured his mind, his heart, his soul so completely.

Hinda noticed the change in his expression. And she knew. She knew that he had finally realised what she had known for such a long time on her part. The Gypsy girl that was Hinda, was not a girl any longer. In that brief dance, she had become a woman. A loved woman. And she smiled at him.

Hershel felt his heart squeeze with the beauty of her smile. His whole being felt the need to kiss her, to let her know just what he was feeling. He leaned towards her and Hinda shivered with the delight over feeling his warm, minty breath on her face and neck. He leaned in so his mouth way by her ear and he drew her against him, so that their thighs and chests met. They both caught their breath at the change of contact. A lightening-like charge jolted their bodies and they both close their eyes at the wonder of it.

And in a sweet, gentle whisper, Hershel told her,

"I love you." Hinda closed her eyes and savoured the words that she had been waiting for for a year or more. _I love you_. Three sweet and beautiful words. Three words of promise. And the second, the word to describe what Hinda had felt for this man for what felt like forever. She buried her face briefly in his muscled chest before turning her face up to him.

"And I love you." A prickling in her nose told her that tears were approaching, but Hinda didn't care. So her eyes filled with tears of happiness and her only regret was that she couldn't see Hershel's wonderful face.

Hershel watched her green eyes brim, then overflow with tears. They made their wet tracks down her smooth cheeks and Hershel tenderly wiped them away with a gentle finger. He stroked her hair and softly pressed her head against his chest.

For the second time, she buried her face in his chest and he tightened his arms around her protectively, knowing she cried in happiness.

And they stood there, the rest of the Gypsies watched them nostalgically. Meir smiled to himself and climbed into the wagon, preparing for bed. He was very glad. Whatever that particular feeling it was that he could not identify, Hershel and Hinda were feeling it, for each other. 'It happened sooner than I thought....and with no help from me!" The boy smiled as he settled onto his bed, and with a sigh of satisfaction, fell asleep.

The couple stood, arms around each other for so long. Hinda's parents watched and smiled. Mignon cried silently. The little girl to whom she had told was to young for this fancy of love was dancing the courtship dance. She was being held by a man. He little girl, her Hinda, her doe. She swallowed and Selig hugged her round the shoulders. He led his wife inside their wagon and they went to bed, feeling slightly empty.

* * *

As the rest of the Gypsies made their way to bed, Yona watched from the trees surrounding the Caravan circle. The Darkspy saw Hershel tip Hinda's chin up. The spy watched as he lowered his head and kissed her softly and sweetly. Yona noticed her hands intertwine with Hershel's hair caressingly. They broke apart just enough to looked lovingly into the other's eyes.

With tears streaming from her eyes, Hinda cupped Hershel's jaw and cheek in her hand.

"I love you so much. I love you more than any tongue can ever tell, but I'll try." She paused and sniffed slightly before continuing. "Te quiero." Hershel kissed her forehead and replied,

"Ich liebe Sie." He stroked her cheek and said, " Amo-o."

Hinda smiled up at him with the sweet emotion of love in her eyes, love that Yona could see. He watched as she went up on her toes to reach his ear. He leaned down to help her and Yona read her lips as she said,

"L'amo, Hershel, L'amo."

"Jeg elsker De. I love you." Hinda watched as a single tear tracked down Hershel's face. She breathed in his scent and said in a low, loving tone,

"I know you do."

* * *

Morning came to the Castle of the King. Morning found the Lord Antony Dewhurst leaving guard duty. During the night, two maidservants had crossed the courtyard, talking to the other. Lord Dewhurst frowned as he recalled the conversation...

_"And they want it cleaned tonight?"_

_"'course, them crazy nobles are obsessed with cleanliness. O' course," the second woman added, "The girl was dead for a few hours afore they found her."_

_"Dead?!" the first had exclaimed, "I thought she wasn't dead yet! I was talking to Marie in the kitchens and she said she was in the Healing Quarters visiting Simon, you know Simon, right?"_

_"The one who got caught in the middle of some magical finagle of some sort a while back?"_

_"That's right. Anyway, she was visiting Simon and she sees two Healers finish Transporting with some noblewoman. And she says to me. 'She looked half dead, did that Earl's daughter.'" The second maidservant shrugged and told her companion,_

_"Well, I heard she was dead. But then that was from a stablehand visiting his aunt whose an assistant cook, who got a barrel of butter dropped on her foot yesterday. He tells me that he saw some girl was just bawling her eyes out on the bed where the noblelady was. He tells, you know what he tells me? He tells me, ' She was just acryin' an cryin'!' He says, ' Far as I can figure, that noble was dead...looked like her maidservant or someone which was crying. Must of liked her very much eh?' And so that why I thought she was dead!" The lady who had finished talking shurgged and said, "But, like I said, it was a stablehand." The ladies exchanged a glance telling the Guardsman exactly what they thought of stablehands' credibility._

_The ladies had continued out of the courtyard and out of the noble's hearing._

For five hours while he was on guard duty, Lord Antony had been nearly wild with wondering. 'Has she died yet? Is _Keosha_ alright? Was she truly that ill? There were many Earls with daughters, was it even Lady Abigail who they spoke of?' questions raced around him mind, setting the scene for a battle: his sense of duty and his affection for Keosha. His sense of duty won, but only because he had only just decided to go to her when the man came to relieve him of his duties.

H made his way toward the Healing Quarters, the sunlight filtering through the widows in the corridor and falling upon him. The Healing Quarters's tall door were closed and the noble stood a moment infront of them before they opened.

The tall, white-haired Healer gazed at him, making the young man feel like a child. Brushing away the feeling, the man spoke,

"You have in your care a young woman by the title of Lady Mattensworth. I wish to know her condition and the whereabouts of her quarters." The Healer pursed his lips in what was very close to exasperation. When he spoke, his voice was slightly cracked and bore a thread of impatience.

"Young man, I have better things to do than answer questions of people who do not even bother introducing themselves. So I ask you, who are you?"

"Oh. I am Lord Antony Dewhurst."

"Ah." The Healer just looked at him. Lord Antony's own impatience began to bubble and he glared at the man. The Healer sighed slightly and said,

"The Lady whom you seek is in critical condition. We are expecting her to die within the next two hours, at best. It's surprising that she survived the night, with the amount of blood she lost." Lord Antony began digesting this information, the Healer began to leave.

"Wait! You haven't told me which room she occupies. I would like to visit her. Now." Lord Dewhurst glared at the man, hoping that it would unsettle him, at the very least. It didn't. The Healer clenched his jaw and pursed his lips tighter. He turned again to leave. Lord Antony took a deep breath and charged after him. He put a hand on the man's shoulder and turned him around to face him.

"You will tell me where the Lady Mattensworth is being kept or I shall make you regret it!" The Healer eyed the noble's left hand, which was still on his white-clad shoulder, then his gaze flickered to Lord Antony's belt, where his other hand was fingering the hilt of his dagger.

"The lady you seek is in the fifth room on the right. If you disturb the other patients, you will be thrown out quicker than you can draw that dagger." The Healer looked distastefully at his shoulder, where Lord Antony's hand was. He brushed it off with a grimace, spun on his heel and left.

' That must be the most exasperating Healer I've ever dealt with! Bitter old coot.' The noble shook his head and began walking quickly down the corridor, counting doors as he went. He came to the fifth on the right and brushed aside the white cloth that hung in the doorway as a barrier. Keosha was kneeling over the bed, her back to him. He walked quietly further into the room, hoping he wouldn't startle her. When he reached the bed he realised why she had been crying.

Lady Abby's face was the white of death and her breathing seemed laboured. Her body lay without moving, and the way she lay seemed arranged, like that of a corpse in a coffin.

Keosha's top half was supported by the bed, where she seemed to have collapsed in exhaustion and now slept. Antony walked closer and his boot hit a tin cup on the floor, making a loud noise.

Keosha stirred slightly. She looked at the cup which was still rolling slowly. The maidservant turned and saw him. Her eyes were full of immeasurable sadness. She glanced towards the figure on the bed, then back at him, her lower lip quivering.

He rushed towards her, his arms outstretched. Antony knelt beside her and caught up her trembling form. He held her and rocked her gently as she wept. Held her and made 'shhh' noises against her head. She held onto him as though he were liable to disappear. They knelt beside the bed for a time, Keosha sobbing and Antony rocking her and 'shhh'ing her comfortingly.

He finally began to ease up, and her sobs turned to gulps and her gulps turned to sniffles. He stroked her dark head on his chest and murmured,

"It will be alright, Keosha. It will be fine."

She looked up at him and shook her head sadly,

"_No_." Her voice broke with the single word and she took a moment to compose herself. "No. It won't. The Healers told me that she'll be d- dead soon." Her eyes filled again and she collapsed onto him again, weeping silently. He held her comfortingly, loving the feel of her body, but wishing she weren't hurting so. He rubbed her back and kissed her forehead. She nestled against him and he cupped her cheek in his hand. He tipped her face up so he could see her.

Her eyes were wet and teary and her nose was red from crying. She was the most beautiful thing he had ever witnessed. But she was hurting, _breaking_. And it broke him. He leaned down and kissed her trembling lips, softly, kindly, adoringly.

She pushed against him gently but firmly so she could view his face.

The look of confusion and sadness nearly broke his heart as she whispered,

"Why?" He smiled sadly as he answered her melancholy question.

"Because you are so wonderful. You love your mistress so. You are devoted to her. You are her friend. Because when I look at you I wonder why some man hasn't claimed you. And because when I look at you I wonder if you could ever feel for me the way I feel and ache for you." He paused to take in the look of wonder in her eyes, "Because I am despairing because you are despairing. Because," he stopped and kissed her hand that he held. "Because I believe I love you. And, and I wanted to be sure you knew."

Keosha gazed up at this man who professed to love her so. Who was comforting her and praising her. And loving her. But could she be sure? Keosha didn't want to think. Her mind was so confused. There was Abby lying on the bed...dying. And here was Lord Antony Dewhurst, telling her that he ached for her. Telling her that he was despairing because she was. But was he really? Or was he just another male hoping for a bed warmer?

Keosha's very thoughts shocked her. 'He is a gentleman in all respects!' she admonished herself. ' But even if he is a gentleman and being honest, I can't....'

Keosha looked up into his blue eyes and swallowed. " This is the second time we have ever met....I cannot even...that is, I... I, I can't, I mean, not now..." she gestured towards Abby with a lethargic hand. Antony felt empty. Did she not like him at all? Was there another man? He silently cursed his stupidity, of course there was another! His despair and disappointment showed on his face and Keosha placed her hand on his shoulder. He twitched almost angrily but did not interrupt her.

"Lord Antony, I didn't mean that I didn't l- I mean, that I don't hold something for, for you... but Abby..." His face softened and he nodded. Keosha saw the look of understanding on his face and she said quietly.

"I don't know what will happen. I don't know..." He sighed and brought her close to him. As they hugged he talked. She could feel his soothing voice in one ear and could feel the vibration of his deep voice as she clung to him, pressing against his firm chest. "I understand. I can wait...but not for long. I feel a need to touch you and comfort you the way a lover would comfort his love. But I will simply comfort you as a friend, though," here his voice broke with emotion, "I truly do love you."

She looked into his eyes, her own wide and trusting.

"Yes." she said, suddenly free from doubt, "I believe you." As he held her, Lord Antony felt a bitter pain. She must like him, but not as much as he wanted her to. Comforting her as a friend was wonderful, but to comfort her with kisses was what he wanted... 'but I can't. I love her, but I must hold to her wishes.' the noble thought bitterly, but lovingly.

They stayed intertwined for a long time, and Healers came and went. The light of the morning blossomed into full afternoon light, then faded into evening. They sat the vigil with Abby together, neither leaving the other or Abby for more than a few minutes.

* * *

(A/N: And yes, I do realise that they fell in love very, very quickly, but remember that Hinda had like/loved Hershel for a year or more. And plus Hinda's really cool and sweet, so she's easy to love! .: chuckles:. Also: Both 'romances' were very abrupt, but in Keosha and Lord Antony's case, tragedy reveals our closest friends.)

Please review. Thanks to all who did last time. Yay! We reached 49! Thank you. So close to 50. :(

Posted on the 13th of September


	19. Three New Arrivals

**Chapter 19: Three New Arrivals**

* * *

We have 50 reviews!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! 17 reviewers in all!! I love you! .: smiles big :. Actually, I've got 52....hehehe. And as Cheekychik said, Let's aim for that 100! Ok, maybe that's pushing it....60 reviews...very, very realistic.

Hello, first reviewer, Zagato! Yes, a good story, well I think so, at least! Thank you.... oh and Zagato? About the other story...you don't know that....: waves hands all musicallly hoping to make you forget :. You are number 50!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! Be pleased!

Cheekychik....Cheeky...hehehehe I like you. Don't get me wrong, adoring fans are loved....but I thank you for your obvious sense of assurance... you know what authors would do for reviews! Yes, yes, I shall write more.... and the heroine...well, we'll see. You are lucky number 51!!!!!!!!!!!!!! hehehehe.

Fou Fou, hehehehe, hermit...funny word...isn't that a little harsh? And yes, the diamonds and the Queen and Natalia will be coming in either this chapter or the next....don't worry.

Kaio, Chrischelle, Kylie, Winndixie, Nosilla, Lalaith, Malista, Manny2003, SukiYumi, LindyLou78, Loving-Life, Alicia, and Charming Visions.... please read. please review.

* * *

The Earl of Mattensworth was awakened at the breaking of dawn by his internal clock, which was ever ticking. The heavy curtains were drawn closed, keeping the dawn light out and the Earl's dark thoughts in. He stretched and got out of bed.

Settling at his writing desk and fully dressed, the noble began writing his messages. Rather than draw the curtains, he lit the candles around him....casting a glow about him as sinister as his reputation.

At four minutes to eight, he heard a light scratching on the outer doors.

" What is it?" he barked in irritation.

" I've got your breakfast, sir."

" Well then leave it on the table and go!" The Earl pursed his lips in exasperation. ' Palace help was also more intelligent twenty years ago, too.' he thought uncharitably as the door opened and the servant made her way to the bedchamber doorway. The Earl continued his writing, not even bothering to look up. She stood in the doorway uncomfortably for a while before venturing to ask the obviously irritated man,

" Which table, sir?"

" That table you blasted fool!" The Earl pointed at the bedside table and glared at her. She scurried over and placed the tray carefully on the table before hurrying back to the door, where she curtsied,

" Will you be wanting anything else, Sir?" she asked nervously. The Earl looked up slowly from his writing and said in a voice of dangerously calm,

" If I needed anything else I would have already said something...as it is all I asked for was breakfast at eight and you are four minutes early and are disturbing me greatly. Leave." The maid left, without comment, leaving the Earl to his dark work.

'Probably the most impatient and irritable noble I have ever waited on!' she thought as she left. But she wouldn't let it ruin her day. Nobles were a temperamental and irritable lot as were usual. She would hardly expect anything less.

* * *

Hershel fell asleep thinking of Hinda. He slept and dreamt of her. He woke and was thinking of her. Her soft skin, her abundant hair (which, as he recalled, smelt of wild roses), her gentle but excitement-evoking touch. But mostly, he dreamt of her eyes. Her eyes which were so full of (dare he even think it?) love. Her eyes full of amusement and love. Full of pleasure and love. Full of joy...and love.

He smiled widely, feeling pleased with the night before's results. She loved him. Had loved him for quite a time. Love. His grin widened. 'I love thinking that word. Love.' He grinned, slightly ashamed at the immaturity of his own thoughts. Hershel stretched like a cat woken from a nap and rolled his shoulders as he knelt on the blanket-covered floor of the wagon.

Meir stirred and his brother froze, not wanting to wake him. The boy turned over and continued to sleep, the picture of innocence. His brown hair was mussed, and his clothes were rumpled. 'Didn't even bother changing.' Hershel slipped out of the wagon and retied the flaps together.

He stole away from the Caravan Circle and into the woods. The morning was fresh and clear, and invoked sweet songs in the man's mind. He smiled and saw a beam of sunlight that had managed to filter, unhindered to the mossy forest floor. Hershel's smile grew as he spotted a clump of wild flowers near a tree trunk. The shades of the blue and lavender petals varied in each clump, and Hershel chose shades of blue.

He wandered through the forest, and, being a Gypsy, didn't loose his way.

When he had been wandering for a while, a thought stuck him so hard he stopped suddenly. A wide smile broke over his face and he hurried back to the Caravan Circle.

* * *

Hinda fell asleep thinking of Hershel. She slept, and while she slept, she dreamt of him. When she woke, her first thoughts were of him. His wonderful touch, the silver bells in his hair which jingled softly when he moved, his firmly muscled arms....the glow in his eyes which spoke of love.

She felt her face flush as she thought of his sweet kisses. Hinda stretched and yawned. 'Last night. Last night was, was good.' Her smile widened. ' Excellent, actually.'

She dressed in a cream coloured loose shirt and a flowing green skirt, 'matches my eyes. At least,' she added to herself, 'that's what Mother says.' The gypsy girl was pulling on her boots when she heard a quiet voice outside the wagon.

Peering out, she saw Hershel standing there, slightly awkwardly, with a few stems of flowers in his hand. A tiny smile played on his lips as he helped her out.

" The morning is good." She greeted him. He returned the greeting and added, "And to see you again is good too." He held the flowers out to her.

" They are lovely, Hershel!" She whispered delightedly as they walked out of the Caravan Circle. Hershel's smile settled on his face and she felt her heart burst at the love she saw in his eye. ' Love so recently grown there,' Hinda thought happily.

" They may well be lovely, but they could hardly rival you in beauty." Hinda chuckled slightly. 'I wonder how many men have said that to their lovers over the ages,' she wondered, still happy with the sweetness of the comment. They smiled at one another as Hershel led her into the forest. They clasped hands and the morning birds serenaded their meandering walk in the otherwise quiet forest.

* * *

Natalia had risen at dawn, bathed, dressed and ate before the sixth hour watch had been called and the bells rung. Over and over she played in her mind the scene that she had witnessed the night before.

_The Queen had turned towards the door, no more calm that the crowds that gathered at a wine festival. The hold of the Queen's small hands held amazing strength and pain as she clutched at her maidservant and friend's shoulders._

_"Do you have them?!" she hissed, her face a mask of worry and fear._

_Natalia reached into her pocket and retrieved the cloth package. She held it out to her monarch slowly, whereupon it was snatched out of her hands with the speed of a osprey diving swiping a fish from the water. Queen Moraine's face was a pink shade now, as she stared at the cloth and already cut cords in her trembling hands._

_" You opened it?" Her voice was of deadly seriousness and Natalia responded ernestly,_

_"Of cou'se, Majesty. I didn't know what was in it." From her view of the Queen's back, the maidservant could see her mistress's nodding head._

_" Then you must promise on pain of death, no for the safely of your family, that you will tell no-one of this package's existence or the contents of this non-existent package. Do you understand?" Moraine turned and looked her friend in the eye. " You have involved yourself in a very serious enterprise. By opening this package and knowing what it holds, you have endangered you and everyone you hold dear." Natalia's mouth opened in protest or question, but the Queen continued._

_" You must promise on my terms. Not to promise will lead to a new position for you. Far from me. Far from your home. Far from this Court." Natalia nodded,_

_" I swear, Moraine, I swear. I've never seen the package in your hands, I know nothing of it or it's contents." The relief was evident on her Queen's face as she drew a breath and nodded._

_Moraine untied the knots and lifted off the rough cloth. She stared at the gems before absently touching them and picking them up, examining them in the window's afternoon sunlight._

_" They are perfect." she murmured. "Each a perfect stone. Each worth more than what all the nobles' handmaids and hand servants make in a year...put together." She sighed and looked over at Natalia, whose gaze was still trained on her mistress. Natalia met her gaze and said,_

_" What is going on? What have you been doing? How could I not have known?" The Queen smiled a tiny smile._

_" It is a miracle that you are only finding out now. I have concealed this from you for over a year. How I did it, I know not. I know that if it weren't for your preoccupation with Bram, I never could have mislead you like everyone else." She paused and looked away before adding in a very quiet voice, "Even James doesn't know."_

Natalia shook her head as she walked down the cold corridors to the Queen's chambers. She stopped a hall- length away from the main doors to the Queen's chambers. She took out a small copper key and whispered over it. The key glowed a brief yellow and a small engraving on a painting's frame glowed a corresponding yellow.

Natalia replaced the key in her pocket, touched the engraved flower, and climbed through the opening that the painting had covered. Once in, she whispered another phrase and the opening closed.

The opening was a doorway into a servant's corridor, a very small hallway made for the quick and secret passage of servants to and from the Queen's chambers. Such corridors were common in the castles of Arulanthu, but few knew that the Royal Castle had such entrances. Natalia herself had only found out the day before, when the Queen had shown them to her.

" For the Queen's most trusted servants and confidants." she had told Natalia. Now Natalia simply used it for the sake of using it. The thrill of using a secret passageway was irresistible!

Keeping one hand infront of her to ward off any spiders waiting to drop on unsuspecting person, the woman opened her palm and whispered the same spell she'd used in the 'gardens' the day before. Her open palm blossomed with light and she moved quickly down the passageway, smiling in a guilty, immature pleasure.

She reached the end of the passage and the wooden door which stood infront of her seemed very mysterious. Natalia brushed off such feelings of trepidation and tried the handle. The metal was stiff in her hand, but when she persisted in turning it, it grinded slightly and gave. She pushed at the door, but it wouldn't move.

She suddenly became very, very aware that she was in an inclosed passage, which, as she suddenly thought, was quite narrow. The door wasn't opening and she had no way of knowing if the door she had entered through was also an exit.

She leaned against the wall and closed her eyes. 'Deep b'eaths, Nat, deep. In, and out.' She inhaled and exhaled a few times, trying to calm herself. It didn't work.

She could feel her breath coming is quick, sharp gasps and she felt her eyes begin to blink rapidly.

" I can't stand it!" She yelled and began hammering on the door, desperately.

Suddenly the door was wrenched open.

" Natalia!" The Queen stared down at her maid servant, who was dasping for breath on the rug where she has fallen when the door had opened.

She knelt down beside her just as Natalia managed to catch her breath.

" What happened? What was in there? Did someone follow you?" Natalia shook her head.

" I, I– hold," gasp, pant, "on. I – I couldn't open," she swallowed and took a deep breath before continuing, " the door. I couldn't open it. It wouldn't' open." Natalia look up at the Queen who was smiling and shaking her head. Moraine help her friend from the ground and led her over to the doorway, which a tapestry now covered. Pushing it aside, she pointed to the half closed door.

As she stared at it, Natalia flushed with embarrassment. The Queen took the handle and pulled it to her right. It slid closed on small wheels on the top and bottom of the door. On the top and the bottom of the sliding door.

" Ah." said Natalia.

* * *

Sophia was waited anxiously for Abby's reply. The courier had left more than a week and a half ago and none had returned. And she still waited.

The lovely blonde stood at her window day and night, waiting. She felt like her body was being hacked away from the inside. ' By little goblins,' she thought bitterly. The heat of her impending marriage beat down upon her like mid-day sun beats upon the desert sands. She was not, technically supposed to know about it. The Earl must have sent a note cancelling his meeting with the Baron, her Father. Father. 'To most, that must mean protection, safety.' she shook her head bitterly, ' Love.' Her Father knew not of these things. His actions were typical and not unusual of Fathers in the Known Lands. Most had arranged marriages, arranged for the Father's business, hardly ever for the daughter's feelings.

' But I suppose I have a good arrangement. A rich, handsome (I suppose), titled, and politically respected husband. Let's not mention his cruelty, his cold manner, and the fact that he is my best friend's, who, just in case I hadn't forgotten, hasn't written back! Her _Father_!' Sophia stared at the pathway leading to her manor. Empty. ' Like my heart.' She stopped suddenly. ' No. Not like my heart. My heart is full.' She picked up a white china vase and hurled it against the wall in a fit of passion.

" My heart is full of anger!" she screamed. She stared at the pieces of the former vase, now scattered on the carpet. She knelt on the floor, meaning to pick them up. 'No.' she thought suddenly. ' Why would I do that? I have servants. Servants who don't do anything!' she paused, horrified at her thoughts.

" What has happened to me?" Sophia whispered, shaken. 'How could this change me so?' the woman thought. She pressed her hands to her face and stared vacantly at the broken vase.

" _Broken_." her voice cracked as she realize the semblance between her and the vase that was in pieces.

She sat there for what seemed like forever, staring.

A maid scratched at her chamber doors.

" Miss? Lady, we heard a scream and something crash, miss. Are you alright?" There was a pause and some whispering, "Pra'ps you'd like something to eat now? I little porridge or some dry toast? Some tea?" The maid stopped and listened hopefully for a response.

The future Baroness had not eaten in over two days. The last she had eaten was a whole roast quail and a handful of new potatoes. At night. When she sleep-walked. Which she did frequently. But the last two nights, she had wandered outside and stood in the doorway and on the path, whispering to herself,

" Where are you? Where are you Abby?" the servants would watch in fascination as the tears ran down her cheeks and she cried out for her friends. "Keosha? Abby? Have you forgotten me? Help me!"

Why she needed help, the servant did not know. What they did know what that while awake, Sophia had been refusing all manner of foods. She may ask for some cold or hot water, but none had seen her in daylight for over five days. She wouldn't leave her room. She changed her own linens and handed out her dirty laundry for washing. Besides her slim hands, she kept herself hidden.

" It's to do with that awful Earl's visit not a week ago, you mark me words now, Lil." The cook had been sure of it, and soon the rest of the household blamed that awful Earl for their distress over their Baroness.

'Their Baroness'. Not 'The Baroness'. Lady Sophia, as most called her, was not particularly sweet or compassionate, but seeing as most nobles had only harsh words and criticism for the lower classes, nobles of both Lady Abigail and Lady Sophia's caliber was hardly found. So Lady Sophia was treasured and beloved, and seeing her is thus such a state was not to be borne!

But there was little that the servants could do. Sending up trays of goodies to tempt their mistress had been their first plan. It failed. They had then started playing their home music, but the Baron had put a quick stop to that. The servants were now sending up flowers from the gardens that Sophia loved to walk in, folded secretively in the bed linens each day, hoping to draw her outside. So far, this too, had failed.

Sophia had heard the knockings and the entreatments to eat something. She shook her head, and would have smiled if she had had the energy. But she didn't so she called to the servant,

" I'm fine. I'm not hungry. Thank you." Sophia paused, hoping her weak voice had been heard. She crawled over to her bed and gathered enough energy to lay down on it. She closed her eyes and willed sleep and the peace that came with it, to come to her.

Sleep came. But peace remained as far away her friends.

* * *

The Healer entered Abby's room quietly, hoping he wouldn't disturb the two people who slept near the noblewoman's bed. Keosha stirred anyway and the Healer shrugged and continued towards them.

She looked at him and he held out the bundle of clothes in his arms.

" These are her clothes," He whispered, barely audible. He pulled something out of his Healer's apron and pressed it into her hand, saying, "The cleaning people saw this in her bed chamber and seeing as how it wasn't opened, thought to pass it on to you." Keosha blinked and tried to utalise her mouth. Failing she merely nodded and the Healer patted her kindly on the arm before leaving.

Keosha shook her head to clear the fuzziness of sleep and held the paper the Healer had given her up. It was a letter.

'_Lady Abigail of Mattensworth, Daughter of the Earl of Mattensworth'_

Ah. The letter from her father. She glanced at the still figure on the bed, shrugged, turned over the letter and broke the Earl's seal. She blinked and squinted a few times to clear her vision. Walking over to the window, where white light filtered through, she read the letter silently.

_Abigail,_

_By now you are at the castle that serves as the Royal Court. You may have been introduced to the King, but I doubt it. I am coming to the Royal Castle myself, in three days._

_I will be there on a matter of business, to announce my forthcoming marriage. Today I have an appointment with the Baron of Lelly's Brook, to finalise the final arrangements for his daughter's hand._

_I find that I need an heir other than a daughter, so I am forced to wed again. A pity and a waste of precious commodities, but necessary for a male heir._

_I may call upon you, at which time I will discuss certain prospects for your own approaching nuptials._

_Until then,_

_Earl of Mattensworth._

Keosha stared at it. He was here! They had received the letter, what, five days ago? Why hadn't she opened it? 'Probably trying to put unpleasantries from her mind.' Keosha thought sadly. Then her thoughts turned to rage. The Earl was plotting with the Baron of Lelly's Brook for Sophia's hand! 'I wonder if it went through?' Keosha hoped for a brief second that it wasn't, but it seemed unlikely that the Earl hadn't gotten what he wanted.

She stopped leaning on the wall beside the window and walked shakily towards the Healing Quarters hallway. Peering out, she noticed that page boy from their first visit to the Healing Quarters, 'What's his name?' Keosha wondered. 'Ah. Patrick or something like it. I'll try it and hope for the best.'

" Patrick!" she called, and she was appalled at the scratchy and unused sound to her own voice. But it did the trick anyway, as the page turned and half jogged towards her.

He eyed her anxiously before he said in a quiet voice,

" I'm sorry she's ill, miss. Is there anathing I could do?" Keosha nodded and cleared her throat before speaking,

" Do you know the castle gossip?" The page nodded, so she went on, "Do you know if the Earl of Mattensworth has arrived at Court yet?"

" Oh aye, he has. Arrived two days ago, at around eight in the evening. Talked with the Count before he wen to his rooms." Keosha frowned.

" What Count?" The page threw her a puzzled glance before saying,

" The man who greets newcomers so Court, miss. The man who Gorison serves." Keosha paused in thought before nodding.

" He never told us his name when we came."

" Aye, he does that a lot, a bit forgetful, that one. A little off, say the rumors." Keosha nodded absently and thanked Patrick. The page trotted off down the hall and the maidservant ducked back inside.

She walked towards the bed and reread the Earl's letter.

'... _discuss certain prospects for your own approaching nuptia_ls...' Keosha sighed. So the Earl planned to follow through with his threats. Not that Keosha had thought otherwise, but for the sake of her friend, had hoped for the impossible. No doubt he'd marry her to either a young, very rich man or a very rich old man. 'I suppose the latter would be preferred, if he's ill. Though,' she thought, shuddering slightly, ' I'd hate to give an old man pleasure in bed. Whether she marries a young man or an old geezer, it would not be a good marriage, certainly not happy or love-filled at all.'

Keosha's gaze fell to her friend's pale face. Abby hadn't moved in the time that Lord Dewhurst had come. ' If she dies, she will have escaped an unhappy marriage, that much is certain.' Then her eyes brimmed with tears at her own thought.

Keosha transferred the bundle of clothes to her other hand to brush the tears away. She frowned. She moved the clothes again and heard the sound she had thought she had heard earlier. The crinkle of paper.

Keosha walked over to the bed and placed the clothes gently on the edge. She quickly found a letter, stuffed in one of Abby's pockets. Keosha looked at the letter for a long time. She recognized the handwriting that addressed it to her mistress.

The letter from Sophia had arrived four days ago...Abby hadn't responded. She glanced over the letter, remembering how Abby had read it aloud as Keosha brushed and plaited her hair. She shook her head as the thought of the hurtful words that had been spoken. ' I'd rather argue with her for a million years than to say good-bye now...' She closed her eyes, a vain attempt at keeping her tears in check.

Antony opened his eyes to see Keosha standing with the two letters in her hands, eyes closed, with tears trickling down her cheeks. She stood that way for a long time. The nobleman got up silently and hugged her from behind, not saying a word.

Keosha leaned against him for support, both physical and emotional. They stood there awhile, thinking and crying.

* * *

Marcus sat sipping tea, waiting for Jeanine to finish dressing. ' Why is it that all I want is to see her and she has to dress up just to see me.' He stared at the light brown liquid, overly sweet for his taste. But Jeanine's maidservant put two spoons of sugar in the tea before he could protest, smiling seductively all the while.

' Of course, she can hardly be blamed,' the noble thought, ' My tastes have changed since my last visit.' He reflected at the changes. He was wealthier. He had less expensive tastes. He no longer enjoyed eating rabbit. He was in love with a women he had met once. And kissed twice. ' That can't be good.' he thought, probably for the hundredth time.

His thoughts broke as the doors opened and he stood, waiting the noble woman who entered.

Her blonde hair fell to her shoulders in carefully tended curls, and her eyes and lips were enhanced with the use of cosmetics. Her gracefully swaying body was enough to make any man lust, and Marcus was no exception. He started at this realization. He lusted after her, the same as any man would lust after a beautiful woman. But that was all he felt: lust.

Jeanine smiled heart-wrenchingly at the nobleman. She spread her arms out towards him and rushed over,

" Marcus!" They embraced, but any affection was one-sided. She kept her arms about his neck and looked into his face. She smiled again and turned her face upwards, awaiting his kiss.

Here was a dilemma. 'Do I kiss her like her loving betrothed and leave off telling her of what I no longer feel? Or do I kiss her on the cheek and sit her down? I cannot tell her now.' Marcus's thoughts rushed through his head, all a-jumble. 'No. I must act brotherly only. God knows what Antony would do to me, friends though we are, if I did otherwise while intending to break our engagement.'

His mind made up, Marcus smiled back at her and kissed her cheek softly. A small frown creased Jeanine's fair brow, and her narrowed in confusion.

" How have you been while I was gone? Has anyone new arrived at Court?" Marcus quickly turned to the refuge of converation, and was glad when she followed his lead.

" I have been well, though a small head-cold plagued me for a day or so. But you know me, I am able to fight off illnesses quickly." she smiled and led him over to where he had sat before and motioned that he drink his tea. "And three new people have arrived at Court. One you know well, the other you may have heard of (thought I doubt it), and the other you will not know at all." Marcus leaned back on the settee,

" Am I to guess their identities, then?" At her playful nod, he smiled again. "One who I know. As a friend or as an acquaintance?" Jeanine paused a moment,

" An acquaintance, I suppose."

"Ah. Let me think. Sir Michael Hemstone? Or Lord Timothy Hastings?"

" No, and no, thought Lord Timothy is rumored to be engaged, and his bride apparently wants a Court Wedding, so he may come after all."

" Count Frankson?"

" Nay. Oh, wait, Marcus, I suppose you know his wife aswell. She is come to Court also."

" That narrows the field considerably. Hmm, a married couple. The Earl of Glimsby and Lady Lorna?"

" No, no, they've denounced Court for good."

" Lord and Lady Tilney?" Lady Jeanine's smile widened.

" Quite correct, darling! They are come back to Court after three years. Such a darling couple. But there are others who've come aswell. One you may have heard of and one you shan't know at all. Go on." Marcus guessed for a few minutes, learning little tidbits about the people he asked. Finally, he sighed. An outrageous suggestion popped into his mind and in a moment of lunacy said it aloud,

" The Earl of Mattensworth?" Lady Jeanine smiled. It was obvious that her betrothed was becoming frustrated with the game.

" You did take your time about it, didn't you?" Marcus sat up.

" Are you telling me that the Earl of Mattensworth is at Court?"

" Yes..." She looked at him, puzzled at his reaction. " He may be a bit standoffish, but he's not a complete recluse." Marcus just stared at her, unable to believe that his random guess would strike the truth. Th Earl. Her Father. Jeanine leaned towards him, concerned,

" What is it, darling? You seem a little out of sorts?" Marcus shrugged and pushed his shock aside. He smiled at her and asked,

" Now, was that the person I'd have heard of or the person I don't know at all, other you wouldn't think I'd know?"

" That was the one you would have heard of, Marcus."

He raised an eyebrow at Jeanine. "How am I to guess a person has come to Court that I haven't heard of?" She smiled.

" You must be very tired, darling. You normally would have picked up on that far sooner. I'll just tell you who she is." Marcus felt a sickening feeling crawl up his belly, up his throat and settle in his mouth. He swallowed. An awful premonition constricted his throat.

" Let me guess," he choked out, "Lady Abigail of Mattensworth."

Jeanine looked at him, the half smile on her face, now frozen with confusion. "How...?" She faltered, "How did you know that?" Marcus felt the bile of his stomach pool in his mouth. Lady Abigail was at court. The same court of his betrothed. 'This is just not good.'

He laughed shakily, very shakily. Too shakily. Jeanine leaned over and touched his arm,

" Marcus? What's wrong?" He shook his head.

" Nothing, nothing. I just had not thought to, that is I, of all the people to come to Court I would not have expected her." He inwardly groaned, remembering his words to her that night, '...may I ask why you do not grace King James's Court? Actually, upon reflection, I don't want to know, for you were there, all the noble men would be begging to dance with you. Furthermore, they would pay just to gaze upon you. No, I am glad I have seen the most beautiful woman in the entire world before King James himself...' But before he could recall any other possibly damaging things he'd said, Jeanine continued talking,

" I don't see why not, she's seventeen. It's high time she was at Court. If anything you ought to be surprised that she wasn't here three years ago. Many girls come at fourteen or even thirteen."

Marcus nodded and stood abruptly.

" I- I must go, Jeanine. I shall see you...another time. Good morning." He set down his cup and saucer and fled from the noblewoman's rooms, her voice calling after him,

" Marcus? Marcus! Where are you going? What's afoot?"

Marcus made his way back to his chambers and was just at his door when a voice behind him caused him to pause.

" Sir DeBracey?" Marcus turned and stared down at Lady Abigail's handmaiden, Keosha. ' Oh my gods.'

* * *

Posted on the 6th of October, 2oo4.

Hehehehe. Sorry it took so long.... Now review!


	20. Care to Tell?

**Chapter 20: Care to Tell?**

* * *

Hmm....I take absolutely no offence towards constructive (bold this word) critisism. Even the first time I read 'em....which is in fact quite odd. Anyhoo, I love you all (still) and will sum up the other characters...not so many scenes per chapter is what people what, yes? Good. 

Thanks to all for keeping me accountable and in check....keep it up!

.: tugs nervously at collar:. About the not updating for nearly a month....sorry! My mathematics teacher is a (insert horrible curse word here) and gives us homework every flaming day! Arg. Ya...moving on:

Cheeky- yaya, I see what your sayin', she's a bit of a Mary Sue...too nice.

Lindy and Cheeky- you basically said the same things about too many scenes...I'll cut most of the scenes....get mad at me if there's more than four separating line things...kk, keep me accountable.

Three new reviewers!!!!!!!!!! hellohello to HeadsUpHorses and MistyQueen.....welcome to my addictive story! Ahahahaha! I've suckered another in! Yay! Enigma!!!!!!!!!! hmmm, that's fun to say. And thankyou for your compliments! Hehehe...

Heads- heheheh pulp...hehehehe .: giggles quietly to herself for a few moments :. 'Update like the wind!' you missed the 'bullseye, part, you know for ToyStory2?!? "Run like the wind, bullseye!" No? Oh well... hehehehe....ah.

Misty- I can't wait either! Oh, wait I'm writing it, oops.

Kaio? Chrischelle? Zagato? LouLou? .: sniffs and looks around :. Where are you? Charming? Malista? LovingLife? Alicia? Helloooooooooooo? Kylie? I put Lady Jeanine in the last chapter...for you...where is you?

* * *

Mother Iku stared into the perfectly round emerald in her palm. She narrowed her eyes and pursed her lips before closing her eyes and placing her hand over the emerald. 

_" Awaken! _

_From the Ends of the Earth, _

_to the Salt in the Sea! _

_To the rise of the Mountains, _

_Show me that which I seek!"_

A cloudy image filled the emerald as Mother Iku opened her eyes to gaze upon it. A rather annoyed face filled it, but the woman's face cleared slightly when she saw the Mother of the Green Coterie looking back at her.

_" Well, you took your time. Where is the girl?"_

" She is here."

_" So what are you waiting for?"_

" A reason to carry through with your plan."

_" Reason?! She has the power to upset our entire power scale!"_ Mother Iku snorted and replied,

" She is no threat. Few listen to their servants here, it is much like in Manisanri, save the fact that they are paid." The other woman's face contorted.

_" You will deliver her to the hands of the Gods or I shall send a person to deliver her for you!"_

" Do as you will. She is no threat. You simply were not convincing enough. Had you done your job properly she would have used the poison in your vial!"

_" It was not our fault! She had no right wandering down to the shipyard of all places!"_

" Your incompetence disgusts me. She is only as servant, hardly worth our concern."

_" She will cause no end of trouble!"_

" Trying to be vatic will get you nowhere. Leave this to me and stick with your slaves, my job is hard enough with their accursed Two interfering with everything I do, let alone with some fool of a 'Mother' telling me to run off after a slave she let escape!"

_" I have a very good reason for sending such as you after her. One that even _you _cannot excuse."_

" 'Such as me.' This had better be good." The woman looked in the emerald and raised an eyebrow. "Well, do you care to tell?"

* * *

Keosha stared after Sir Marcus. 'He's here! In the castle! I can't wait to tell Abb-' Keosha's thoughts stopped dead. It was impossible for her to tell Abby. Of course it was still _possible_ to tell Abby. Whether she heard or not was another matter completely. 'I'll tell her anyway.' 

Keosha continued down the corridor, wondering why the nobleman's jaw had practically dropped. He had muttered and stuttered a polite something and left at a pace that Keosha didn't even bother trying to catch up with. He obviously didn't want anything to do with her.

'Wait, would that apply to Abby too?' Keosha's lovely eyes narrowed in anger towards the man that her friend had sighed over the last two weeks. That stone wall blocked him from her gaze mattered not, he was a flirt! 'Men!' she thought vehemently, 'Well, some men,' she amended, thinking of the one who had comforted her throughout this ordeal.

Keosha slipped into Abby's chambers and closed the doors behind her. She stared at the quiet room, clean, though neither of it's occupants had either slept nor stepped foot in it for almost three days. She looked at the door that led to Abby's bedchamber.

' I daren't go in.' she thought. She turned back, unable to continue.

Keosha walked slowly through the gardens. ' Miserable place, really.' she thought as she viewed the half there flowers and bedraggled bushes. She really had no business there. She had wanted to leave the Healing Quarters so Lord Antony suggested a stroll outdoors might help. Privately, Keosha wondered if had meant the gardens and if he did how long had it been since he had seen them? She saw a stone bench and made her way over to it. A set of initials inclosed in a heart had been carved roughly into the stone.

Keosha sat and shivered at the unpleasant coldness that spread from her bottom. Glad that she had grabbed a shawl from her chambers, she pulled it more tightly about her shoulders. She studied the engraving,

**_MDJD_**

' MD,' she thought...'Marcus DeBracy! It's not possible! But who's JD?' Her thoughts were inturrupted by a voice,

" Keosha! Miss Jameson! Keosha!" She looked up to find Lord Dewhurst running towards her, blonde hair flying behind him.

" She's aware! Lady Abigail is moving!" He stopped a few paces infront of her and grasped her arms, "She's moving, she may awake at any second! Come, we must hurry!"

They raced out of the former gardens, Lord Antony leading the shocked Keosha by the wrist. Through the corridors and up staircases, until they reached the Healing Quarters. He hammered on the doors and pulled Keosha back before she was hit by the opening sweep.

The tall, snotty Healer stood infront of them, opened his mouth, and- but Lord Antony brushed by him, pulling Keosha behind him.

Keosha burst through the curtains that acted as a door. She batted the white curtain from her and rushed to Abby's bed.

" Abby?" she choked out of her dying lungs. "Abby?" The brunette on the bed stirred and turned her head towards her friend's voice. "Keosha... I'm sorry." Keosha hardly heard her. 'Abby's alive!'

" Huh? Sorry for what, Abby?" Abby managed a small shake of her head,

" For not knowing you better. I'm sorry." Keosha shook her head,

"No, no... it doesn't matter. You're alive!" Abby frowned, obviously confused, she opened her mouth to protest, but Keosha shushed her. "No, don't Abby. Just rest." Keosha smoothed Abby's hair from her face and the noblewoman smiled and closed her eyes, presumably to sleep. But she spoke instead.

" Why am I in the Healing Quarters? I remember pain, so much pain in my leg, but I don't remember why."

" I'll tell you later, Abby, but please sleep now!" The stubborn invalid shook her head slightly and continued speaking.

" I dreamed of you, Keosha. I dreamed that I had died and I hadn't told you how much I love you...you are such a wonderful friend. Even when I pull rank on you, you forgive me. You are so, so selfless, I can't say enough in your praise. You're perfect. You're the sister I never had, the Mother I never had." Here she opened her eyes and looked her friend in the eyes. "You've taken care of me since we met. And I've never made an effort to ask about you. To ask where you came from before you were a slave. I never, bothered-" she paused and sniffed, trying vainly to hold back her tears of remorse. Keosha knelt beside the bed and hugged her friend. It didn't matter that Abby had never asked. Had she asked, Keosha would not have opened up anyhow. It took seeing the Green Coterie again for her to want to talk of it.

" Abby. You sat me down that afternoon after we met Mother Iku. You made me tell you. You're the best friend I've ever had, seeing as I wasn't able to socialize in Manisanri. I can't ever thank you enough for not asking questions. Don't feel badly that you let me alone...it was well that you let me alone, whether as an oversight or with said intent." Abby shook her head again, but she dropped the subject as Keosha had hoped she would.

" Marcus. I dreamed of Marcus. He standing in a garden," Here, Keosha thought of the miserable castle gardens," And there was a circle of hedge. In the hedge, a woman sat on a stone bench."

'A stone bench, like the one with the initials in it?' Keosha wondered as Lady Abby went on, "I stood as if paralyzed and I could only watch as Marcus went towards her, and she held a bundle of flowers, which she threw in the air." Abby sighed. "The flowers turned into butterflies, which flew about them. He welcomed her into his arms and he- he bent to kiss her, but she vanished and he stood on one side of a wall of thorns." She looked out the window at the grey clouds that threatened rain. 'I hadn't even noticed,' Keosha thought.

" What happened next?" The maidservant asked,

" I was on the other side of the thorns. He tried to look through them, and as I watched, he began to tear at them with his hands. He was bleeding, for the thorns were strong. I walked towards him, feeling pity that his hands were marked with scratches. I reached through the thorns and-" she looked up suddenly noticing Lord Antony.

" Forgive me, Countess. I found Miss Jameson and brought her to you when you began to stir, I shall leave presently, I apologize for my intrusion."

" Oh no, Lord Dewhurst, I simply was startled at your presence." she caught Keosha's eye and raised a questioning but amused brow. Keosha flushed in reply and Abigail continued, " Indeed I expect I shall see you oftener than I had though upon first acquaintance." The Lord bowed and replied,

" So I hope, my Lady. But I truly must go, I wish you speedy recovery." I turned to Keosha and kissed her hand and smiled his farewell.

Keosha turned back to resume listening to Abby, but the look of smug amusement stopped her.

" Well...it seems much has happened since whatever happened to me. Care to tell?"

* * *

Just so you know, Countess is the title given to an Earl's wife and daughter, and the title of Earl is handed to the daughter's husband or son.

She's awake! I know, incredibly short...blah...sorry, so, so busy!

Now, **review!**


	21. Of Barrenness and Roses

**Chapter 21: Of Barrenness and Roses**

* * *

Thankyouthankyou! Hahahaha! Four (well, three, technically) reviews in a day! Thank you to you all!

We have 64 reviews....6 until 70, 16 until 80, 26 until 90, and 36 until 100!!!!!!!! I know, I'm pushing it...humor me.

Hey, **Catakit**, you commented that this is like a soap opera...well, I know, but that's the style I'm writing in at the moment....so....ummmmmmm, how to say this politely is the key.... I shall continue to write that way...sorry if you don't like it. (Sorry, thats about as polite as I get, I know, good luck getting a job, huh?!)

Also, I don't want to write about the Gypsies for now...I think I'll let Hershel and Hinda fall deeply in love for a while....hehehe......the rating issue...please hold:

A-hem: A general announcement for those who may/may not have noticed that my rating has upped due to a accurate questioning of the PG rating...it is now PG-13.

...There, Catakit...better? Sorry, I hadn't exactly thought when I chose a rating...just kinda picked one ...shuttup, I'm thoughtless, I know.

**LovingLife**...your review came at such (_watchout...Jack Sparrow-ism coming at you_!) an.... opportune time...I'm overloaded with homework and I'm failing a course, I've been feeling really down lately...thankyou so much for sighing over the perfection...right now, I could kiss you (I won't don't worry). Thanks again.

I wasn't going to even start this chapter until my homework was done, but I gotta write something now...see reviews do help.... .:wink, wink:.

**Lindy**...yes it was short...sorry, i knew i had to update but i hadn't any time.  SOrry about that, but i'm reviving Mother Iku again, gald you bothered to go back to read of her, though. Keosha....well i dunno, Abby's awake now and Marcus is there, so....:meaningful silence:. Yeah! same dream...romantic, no? Visit her? i dunno...thatsa little risky with Jeanine around, isn't it? Cool beans...interesting choice...but i like it. 

I know school sucks, but I'll continue my attempts at posting if you review, yaya?

**Cheeky**- your very welcome...i myself was getting bored, so i realised you were too (by you i mean you   Nah, not a duke, a Count, actually. Yesyes, singing woodland creatures...fun, very fun.  Hmmmm, people sin...good hint, i'll keep it in mind as i try to mess up my almost-but-not-quite-mary-sueish-characters.  I know about updating quicker, but this is just about as fast as it gets, sorry! 

**Headup**- yup, its all good.

Hehehehe...**Malista**aaaaaaaaaa...I'm done now...sorta. Yay! Your back! Hey, people...did u hear? I'm BRILLIANT! And...... I ROCK!

* * *

Yona's employer walked past the Healing Quarters, nearly colliding with Lord Antony Dewhurst. 

" Ah, Antony, lovely to see you again, old chap!"

" Hubert, likewise, I'm sure. Simply splendid...look I've got to run, we'll chat later, alright?" without waiting for a reply, the King's Guard-in-training walked quickly down the corridor and out of sight. Duke Hubert of Lormington watched his fellow knight stride off. 'Yes, yes. You go, I would not want to keep you from your duties....but after staying to long beside a servant, I doubt you've even got duties to attend to.' He shook his head and continued towards the smallish areas of the Green Coterie.

He poked his head inside and the white head of Mother Iku appeared in the opposite doorway.

" So you have finally heard from your informant. How goes the plans?"

" All is well, madam, all the plans are just as you wanted. With the information my spy has gathered and delivered to me, I shall be ready to make my move in a matter of weeks." Hubert made a jaunty attempt at a smile. Mother Iku's old face creased and she walked towards Duke Hubert, a glint in her faded green eyes. She looked down into the young man's eyes and lifted his chin with one sharp fingernail.

" Your plans were to be see in motion before the last full moon. Your incompetence is weighing heavily on me..." She paused before continuing, "Perhaps you are not qualified to do the Green Coterie's illustrious work?" Her tone was mild, but her meaning hit him as strong as if she had shouted at him. His face turned to a mask of pleading, and falling to his knees infront of her, the nobleman begged,

" No, no...I am fully able, the situations and the materials were difficult to find...I've everything in place...the timing, madam, the timing!" She shook her head, but not too unkindly.

" You are trying mine and my colleague's patience. By the rising of the next full moon, there will be three, possibly four less nobles to oppose my plans....the less advocates the Two have, the more control_ I_ shall have." No longer was the Mother speaking to Hubert of Lormington, she was looking past him, talking to herself. "I shall wield enough power to challenge even the Green Coterie of Manisanri! Enough to crush that pitiful 'Mother Ren.' Ren, a water lily....but even water lilies can drown," She paused and seemed to realize Duke Hubert's presence.

" You are dismissed, Hubert of Lormington. Go, and when you return, you had better have made significant progress." The nobleman stood and left, shaking slightly. The knowledge that the Mother of the Palace's Green Coterie had been more lenient that expected did nothing to soothe him, after all it only meant that she would have less grace to give if he were to disappoint again.

Mother Iku ignored the Duke of Lormington's exit, he would succeed or die. His death would not bother her, but his failure would certainly be unwelcome. She walked through the doorway and into a small room, filled with the sound of running water.

She stared down into the golden basin on the stone table. Her warm breath misted the surface as she breathed upon it. The mist settled on the water, then cleared, leaving an ever-shifting image in it's place.

Keosha and Abigial talked in the Healing Quarters...

Lord Antony and his sister sat in Lady Jeanine's sitting room and drank tea...

Count John and his son walked about the merchant's stall in Lennick's Marketplace...

The Earl of Mattensworth sat about a table with several influential nobles...swishing his wine in it's glass...

Then the waters swirled and left in it's place a scene of her Majesty, Queen Moriane of Arulanthu, and her serving woman, Natalia...

_The Queen shoved something small into the other's hands. Natalia looked up in what seemed to be incredulousness at her Queen and said something..._it wasn't important... Mother Iku had bewitched the basin and it's waters to show _all_ of interest to her....

The vision continued and Mother Iku's basin showed her a close view of the bundle which Natalia held. Small, and wrapped in midnight blue velvet, it was secured by a mage-stamp. But which mage's stamp it was, the Mother could not catch as the basin suddenly showed the Queen's face, her mouth moving. Her voice suddenly trickled out of the basin, and Mother Iku leaned towards it to hear,

_" You will take this to the meeting point, and exchange it, do you hear? When you uncovered this, this situation, you promised, on pain of death to follow and obey me in this matter...will you go against your word?"_

_" Mo'iane, you know me bette' than that...I was simply questioning the, the, oh I don't know, the p'udence, the wisdom....take you' pick of why you doing this now...what if someone less loyal to you unveils this plot? You, the King, you' employees, you would be shunned....I cannot do this without knowing that you know what your' doing...you do know, don't you?" The Queen nodded, her eyes as solemn as the serving woman's._

_" Nat, I cannot do this without your support and unquestioning obedience...'tis difficult enough without any second guessing on your part."_

_" But you know what you' doing, yes?" The Queen paused and blinked slowly._

_" I involved myself in this, it was a mistake...and now I cannot wrench myself away." She glanced up at her friend's_

_sympathetic face, "I dragged you into it, but there isn't anything I can possibly do to prevent such events as these_

_for continuing. I'm so sorry."_ Mother Iku watched as Natalia hugged her friend and monarch close. She led the Queen over to a set of chairs and set Moraine down in one as she sat in the other.

_" Now, pe'haps you'd bette' tell me how this began."_

Suddenly the image in the basin swirled and faded, leaving the waters completely still. Mother Iku stared down at the golden basin in disbelief.

Surely the Queen had been about to explain, surely the basin had not cut her off from what she needed to know. The Mother of the Court's Green Coterie narrowed her eyes. Her usually calm face clench in anger and she dashed her hand down on the basin, knocking it off the stone table.

She breathed deeply before retrieving the dripping basin, ashamed at her action of anger. She filled the basin again, chanted the awakening spell and the mists swirled and cleared, picturing the Queen again, her mouth moving.

Mother Iku listened hard and slowly the Queen's voice began filtering into her waiting ear. Just as the voice became distinct and the words distinguishable, the basin abruptly cleared again, the voice stopped and the room filled with silence.

Mother Iku straightened. Her green eyes glinted in fury. 'Someone is disrupting my magic...someone is blocking me. They will pay.' She turned towards the wall and uttered a sharp command. The hidden door separated from the rest of the wall and the old woman walked through to the other side.

She looked down at her collection of imprecate objects. The ingredients for revenge.

* * *

The Queen closed her eyes and began, 

" It was over ten years ago; James and I, it was our second babe's death..." The King and Queen of Arulanthu had suffered through four miscarriages and were still without an heir to take the throne.

Her Majesty continued to explain how a sweet young serving maid had told her of a friend whose whom was barren. This woman asked the Goddess to bless her, to no avail. She searched high and low for a cure, she sent her people to the farthest reaches of the world... far beyond the Known Lands.

_The serving maid told her Queen how the woman, the wife of a prosperous merchant, searched for over ten years until she found it. The answer to her barren state was a small flower which grew on the mountains of Zelvemnar, the country of the elves. The state of barrenness was originally thought to be a curse, so the elves guarded the cure carefully, testing each candidate harshly for virtues mandatory in a mother._

_But eventually the elves died out, and the secret cure of the flowers grew to simply a ledged...then a tale....then a myth, told rarely and mockingly._

_The flower itself was called the Tuliane flower, Mynsultine, in elvish. The elves had pressed the flowers' distilled juices into a vial made of crystal, then added their secret ingredient._

_The serving woman's friend found an old gypsy whose skill with herbs far surpasses any healer of her time. She was little known because of the potion the gave to each of those she healed...the Draught of Amnesia. Each person forgot how to reach the woman's caravan, but not wheat happened, such a specific potion is hard for a skilled healer, let alone an untrained (officially, at least) gypsy, who had never attended any Healer's School of any sort._

_The woman trekked over the Known Lands, and after years of searching, finally found her. But the healer would not treat her, she would not give her a vial of the Tuliane Flower Cordial for the gold the woman offered. Thrice the woman left the gypsy, each time bringing with her a higher amount of gold. The third time, the gypsy finally told her the price to dispel her barren state._

_" Diamonds." The gypsy had whispered to the woman._

_" Diamonds." The woman had whispered bitterly to the serving girl._

_"Diamonds." The serving girl had whispered to her Queen..._

_Diamonds, diamonds would give her the vial, would give her the babe she craved. The woman begged the gypsy, offered her the whole of her fortune...but the gypsy refused. The woman left, bitter and angry. She told her husband, the wealthy merchant, how the gypsy had refused. In his longing, he sold all of his profits and bought the diamonds required. Finally the gypsy handed the woman a vial of Tuliane Flower Cordial, the forth of the five she had been left by her mother, an elven healer._

_The merchant and his wife returned home and soon she gave birth to a set of twins, a boy and a girl. So ends this woman's story._

The Queen finished the serving girl's tale and said,

"My contacts finally found the gypsy healer, this half elf over three years ago.  And so I have been exchanging gold for diamonds, each a perfect specimen of purity." Natalia nodded and said with understanding,

"Aye, but the law fo'bids any magical dealing with the gypsy-folk...'tis illegal. You know this." The Queen smiled a tiny bitter smile.

"Yes, but without a child, my country which I so love would be thrown into utter chaos...without an heir. I besides, I so love children. Imagine," Moraine said softly, "a little daughter or son, to present to my husband." Her eyes softened and she looked up at her friend and servant, "Poor James loves children, really he's simply a child himself, once you know him." Natalia nodded, though she secretly could not imagine the dignified King being childish in the slightest.

"But there is more, Nat. The gypsy woman has found out her secret seeker. She has realised that it is I that am searching for that precious vial. She has raised the cost twice now... and I am beginning to loose hope. Already the King's cousin, Duke of Drisral has openly begun discussing the succession of the crown in public gatherings. His bid on the crown is stronger than others, but so many oppose him. And, I must confess that I do not like the way he uses the serving maids...he is lecherous in manner." Natalia patted the Queen's arm in comfort,

"I unde'stand how despe'ate you must be, but shouldn't you tell James? Won't he unde'stand too?" Moraine stood abruptly and shook her head,

"No! He wouldn't...he is too law abiding for his own good...he wouldn't ignore the laws....even for the sake of his own line...for the sake of his country." She shook her head again, slower this time, less frenzied and said softly, "I'm getting on in my years...my child-baring years a fast dwindling. I cannot seem to get the diamonds she wants fast enough..." She broke off in dry sobs and Natalia stood and went to her, rubbing her back and making motherly crooning noises.

They stood together for a while, both thinking, both crying silently, one for the inevitable chaos that would over take the country upon the King and Queen's death, the other for the little babe she would never hold.

* * *

Sir Count Marcus DeBracy nodded as he sipped his spiced cider with his father. The Count's door lay open, a clear view into his office and greeting area. Father and son sat on couches of a mean material, built for endurance, not comfort. Still, they chatted as if in the most comfortable of places. 

"So she has been unconscious for four days, you say?" The Count studied his fidgeting son,

"Yes, four days...the Healers are predicting her death at any moment. But her handmaiden is ever constant, ever optimistic that she will wake. Another but, Marcus," He paused to drink from his cup, "how do you know this Lady Abigail, son? As I understood, she left her home before you were near that area of the country, is that not so?"

Marcus placed the cider upon the oaken table and cleared his throat. ' How do I say this so that you will not have a heart attack, Father..._I abandoned any morals you and Mother taught me and I kissed a maid I do not know?_' Marcus mentally shook his head, his Father deserved to know, but not that way...

"I traveled earlier then my agenda dictated to the Mattensworth estate area. Mine and the Countess's encounter was by chance..." He paused and looked into the fire, unsure of how to precede. 'Such a beautiful girl, woman...will she never survive?' Instead of explaining further, he asked the only thing that came to mind,

"Have you made inquiries into her wounds?" Count John's gaze did not falter at the sudden change of subject, rather it intensified,

"Yes, I myself found a three pronged rod. It seems that the Old King did not clean out the castle as well as claimed, there are still remnants of the Goblin King's diablerie in nooks and crannies of this old place." Marcus frowned,

"It has been extracted of course." His father nodded and made to refill his son's cup. Marcus passed his hand over his cup, blocking his Father's unspoken offer.

"Nay, I shall visit the countess, the Earl's daughter. I'll return tomorrow eve, unless there is an ill-scheduled gathering for us 'young folk'. Truly, you 'old folk' really ought to stop this, 'tis only you who enjoy them." His father smiled and said wistfully,

"I suppose we all recall the days when we had such gatherings...we had such fun, wonderful times, my lad. We just all wish you had the same fun we did."

They bid each other good night and Marcus headed towards the Healing Quarters, thinking.

The women in his dream...obviously Jeanine and Abigail. The easily accessible blonde, the brunette worth fighting for...one with a calming presence, the other with healing powers for his wounds. Marcus shook his head, unable to make sense of it all.

He wondered why his feet were taking him towards the woman he hardly knew...away from his fiancé. But his heart motivated his feet and he found himself infront of the Healing Quarters. He thought again of Lady Jeanine in her bedding plant garden, surrounded by only hedges. But sweet thoughts of the Lady Abigail, dark and mysterious.... her eyes alluring and the roses that filled the air...

* * *

Lady Jeanine sat heavily on her bed. She looked at her handmaiden, 

"Are you sure? You have not misunderstood this at all?" There was a bite in her voice dispite the tragic look on her face.

"Oh yes, milady, I'm sure..."

"Repeat exactly what he said. And tell me again where he was."

"He stood at the Healing Quarter, infront of them like, and he muttered to himself, 'I shall see her, my beautiful dream...the rose behind the thorns.' and then he knocked and that old Healer opened up, but he saw me so I scampered, milady."

"You did well, Farley. Leave me now." The maid backed out and left the noblewoman alone in her room. She stood and searched a small box on her bureau. She withdrew a small dried leaf, an oak leaf of a sweet golden yellow. She caressed it and tears welled up in her eyes.

' He loves me...he told me when he visited.' she replayed the visit in her mind, from her moment she saw him to when the door closed behind him. The word 'love' never passed his lips. 'But he loves me...he loves me.' But the seed of doubt had been laid.

* * *

 Good, now you all love me so review....please. 


	22. A Day With the Earl

**Chapter 22: A Day with the Earl

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****Headsup**- Hello again! I know...the vial was cool, it came to me as a flash of inspiration and I kicked my sibs. off our computer to type...oh, hold on:

General Announcement: Not only are my teachers complete.....(well you know what I'm thinking) but I'm suffering from writer's block...not much inspiration is coming at me lately...so I'm sorry if the chapters are crummy.

Kk, where was I? OH, **Headsup**, I'll try writing one scene this chapter...I dunno how well I can hold off, but I'll try...k? Ummmm, I'm never too sure who to write about, so again, I'll take a while to update, but then by the time I've posted this, you will have realised that because you will already be in a wheelchair complaining of the hip surgeries you are scheduled for.

**Cheeky**, now where would I be if I told my readers/reviewers whether my seemingly sweet characters are evil or not? I'm not answering. .: shakes her head in disgust:. Bah-fooey to you! Lol, joking I love ya! Whaddya mean 'whats so important about them?' !!!!!!!! hellooooo...Natalia is Keosha's cousin, the Queen is the King's wife, King's advisers include the Count, Marcus is the Count's son, Marcus is infatuated with Abby, Abby is Keosha's friend and employer. Ya, a lot of peeps are sayin' same as u with all of the stories at once...please don't get mad....I just can't get enough inspiration from one set...ooopsie. Oh, yes....and watch for them singing woodland creatures! Not is this chappie, but the next.

**Misty**!welcome back!...hmmm, friends with the Mothers of the Green Coterie...that would be the logical, boring, unoriginal choice....I hadn't really considered it.... interesting....don't worry, their in no danger of meeting and joining forces.

Do a little dance...make a little love....get down tonite....yaya, get down tonite!!!!! by now you all know the drill, I HAVE A NEW REVIEWER!!!!!!!! .: smiles like a retard:. Yay **Queena**! Yes, very, very disturbing...ew. But hey, that's y she's mad...and sad...boohoo....I know again with the swtiching bit... lalalala, I'm not listening .: dances around with hands over her ears:. Hmmm, engaged... after 21 chapters, you'd think more woulda happened, I guess. OH WELL!

**Boothaa**...hehehehe, oh, funny name! Thank you...NEW REVIEWER!!!!!!!!!!!!!!yay!

* * *

The Earl of Mattensworth swished the red wine in his glass, waiting on the noblemen's decisions. They sat around a large table, their heads bent towards one another as they listened to each man's opinion. The voice of the Duke of Marling's Point filtered out of their huddle,

" What he proposes is in the best interests of three quarters of the Council. If we were to agree to such a scheme, the King would have our heads on a pike by eventide!"

A nasal tone drifted towards the Earl's chair, " May I remind you that the half who would benefit from this plan of his are seated at this table...he chose his audience well."

The Earl grinned wolfishly to himself and the fern beside him. 'Of course I chose well. And I know you all and your pathetic attempts at business too well not to know that you would die for an opportunity like the one I am offering.'

He tuned them out again and stared idly at the books behind the glass on the shelf.

The Histories of the Known Lands by Sir Trebor Procter, Seven Coteries by Lord Dirhime, Fourteen Ways to Pardise by Count Franc of Solominia. 'Gods forbid that they would have books written by people that know what their writing about. Sir Trebor, a weathered scholar, has never left Arulanthu....pathetic old geezer. Lord Dirhime, as far as I know, still holed up in his country manor. Count Franc.... Solominia, not even Arulanthian, and his attempts to write on the Afterlife are humorous, at best.'

The Earl shook his head and turned his attention to the still-arguing noblemen. He glanced at the grandfather clock opposite his seat. 'Disgustingly inefficient use of time.'

Earl Mattensworth stood, his height of 6 feet, two inches drawing the attention of the clustered men at the table.

" Gentlemen, I am through waiting silently, either you accept my offer or you decline and I turn to another group of gentlemen, perhaps wiser and quicker than you lot." One gnarled old Lord pursed his wrinkled lips and said,

" You are not a polite man, Mattensworth, there are those here who are your superiors, remember that."

" I am not concerned with your hierarchy. I came with an offer and in reply to your drawn-out conference, I leave with your presumed refusal." He walked briskly towards the doors and reached out for the handle.

He had reached for the door handle when the Duke of Marling's Point stopped him.

" You need not attempt thespian talents, Mattensworth. We accept." The Earl did not turn but opened the door whilst replying,

" 'Tis well you do. I shall contact you with details. Good day," The Earl paused before adding in an ironic tone, " gentlemen."

Later that morning, after the Earl had secured his deal, he made his way towards the King's Chambers. The four guards stationed at the door watched his approach with vague interest.

" The King does not see petitioners, whether noble or common in his quarters. I would advise you to return to your regular schedule."

" I realise that. What you don't seem to realise is that the King will see me. Send one of your comrades in to petition him for my audience." The Earl spoke with authority that their spokesperson hesitated before saying,

" I regret to inform you that his Highness will see no one today. You are wasting your time."

" No. You are wasting my time." The guards exchanged an uneasy look, but stood firm in their decision. The Earl fingered the small vial of Hebetude Liquor his pocket. He smiled in false understanding.

" Well, I suppose if his highness is indisposed then I shall call another time." The guards nodded, noticeably relieved nodded as he moved away.

The Earl turned the corner. He shook his head in disgust. 'He says he is King, and yet he takes so few security measures.' The man thought as he viewed the empty hallway. 'Not a guard nor soldier in sight.' The man dug into his other pocket, opposite the one containing the Hebetude Liquor vial, and looked over the spell he'd bought previous his arrival at the palace.

He opened the small scroll and recited the spell words.

Four in deep lull of sleep,

Four in amnesia of on hour.

Four to wake from the curse of sleep,

Four to loose their power.

The enchantment in the scroll caused the paper to vibrate for only a second before it ceased to exist. The scroll vanished from the Earl's hands and he peered around the corner in a comical fashion. The guards lay slumped on the floors in front of their posts. Smiling, he straightened and walked over to them. After checking their consciousness (they were asleep and snoring), he rifled elegantly through each guard's pockets.

The Earl brandished the small key triumphantly after his search and left the Royal corridors.

A hour-half later, the nobleman returned to find the guards untouched. Their quiet snores and the pool of drool from one guard's mouth were proof of their continued slumber. The Earl replaced the key in it's owner's pocket and left, leaving the guards to be found by the next shift.

The tall nobleman gazed over the run-down gardens, waiting. If his tip was correct, a servant of the Queen's would be arriving at any second to deliver a package. 'The Queen thinks she is paying for that fertility elixer....what she doesn't know is that she is single-handedly financing illegal precious jewel operations.' The Earl glanced down at his pocket watch and then to the door of the servants' quarters. The stone arch was empty and the flickering of the torch in it's bracket made the fleeting daylight seem even more elusive. The man tightened his grip on the watch. ' Where are they? Stupid servants, always dawdling!'

The Earl waited for three hours. As the cold air whipped around him, he strode into the castle, intent on the rooms of one Duke Hubert of Lormington.

He hammered loudly and uncompromisingly on the heavy oak door. "Hubert!" The Earl banged again. " Hubert! Open this door this instant, get off her and open it!" There was a muffled cursing and a thump, then footsteps towards the door. The Earl stepped out of the doorway just as the door opened and a fist jabbed where his face would have been. Grabbing the arm, the older man pulled and twisted it behind the Duke's back and shoved him inside the rooms.

Pinning him against the wall, the Earl leaned into his back, smushing his face into the wall. The Earl turned so his mouth was beside the nude Duke of Lormington's ear.

" You gave me dissatisfactory information, Hubert. I would suggest your informer is unemployed by sunset." He glanced towards the bed. A voluptuous woman half-lay, half propped herself up under the canopy of the bed, watching the events, only her bottom half covered. She drew attention to her long neck and ample breasts

as she brushed a stray lock of chocolate-brown hair from her naked breast. She looked directly at the Earl and smiled enticingly, her light eyes beckoning.

" And you, I may arrange for an outing with you where?" She smiled,

" 27 Baker's Corner, above the Barley Reaper's Tavern."

" Thank you," He turned back to Lormington, " And may I arrange your limbs in anyway I like the next time you set me wrong information?" It wasn't a question. He released his own informant and walked out the door.

The Duke stared after the Earl, his fists clenched. 'First Mother Iku, then Mattensworth. Damn them!' He closed the door and turned back to the bed.

" You going to come back?" She asked. He glared at her and shivered as he walked over to his drawers and took the key out of his breeches. He opened the drawer and pulled out a pouch.

"Here, take your money, we're done here." She slipped from the bed and into her clothes, turning her back to him, a silent demand for his help with her corset.

She took the coins on her way out, leaving the Duke with an empty bed and death threats to think of.

The brunette walked quickly from the Duke of Lormington's room, her cloth, leather soled shoes hardly making a sound as she caught up with the Earl, his long strides making it necessary to jog. He barely glanced at her, and she waited a while before he spoke,

" I will send a messenger for you, wench, when I want you. You name and age?"

" Iloria, milord-"

Stupid girl. Doesn't even know that, " An Earl, as I am, is referred to as 'your grace', girl." He finished his thought aloud and she nodded, " Your age?"

" 18, your grace." Ah. Abigail's age. He paused, 'or is she 17?' He dismissed the thought, realising that is hardly mattered. What mattered was that she was of legal prostitution age...she was well above, actually. But he'd never taken a 14-year-old to bed since he was that and two. He nodded and kept walking.

" Your grace?"

" What now?" he demanded, quite irritated. He stopped to find her paused a few feet behind him.

" You won't say where you found me, will you? Only it's supposed to be a quite business." The man raised an eyebrow,

" The business you are in is hardly a quiet one, wench." He turned again, but was stopped by her saying,

" You must promise not to tell!" She sounded terrified at her own words, but the Earl would not let that bit of impertinence go. Turning, he advanced upon her, and when he was not a coin's breadth away, he leaned down, and was rewarded to see her full breasts heaving and her eyes wide with fear.

" Don't make demands on me, slut. Not until we're in bed, and that is a relative term. Even in bed, it is I who dictates your every move, and makes all demands. If you want your cut of coin that my business would bring you, keep your demands quiet." She nodded, her mouth trembling, reminding him of his like for fightened women. He stooped and kissed her hard, intending the bruises he knew would mark her later. She struggled briefly, but stopped after realising it was in her best interest.

The Earl pulled away and slapped her. The cracking sound, echoed horribly in the deserted corridor. He whispered,

" That was a punishment, whore, for making demands above you. Let that be a lesson." He turned and left. Iloria watched him go, rubbing her cheek.

* * *

Come on, we're one away from 70.....11 away form 80, 21 away from 90, and 31 away from 100!!!!!!!!! that's right, the big ten-oh! Hehehehehe.

Don't worry, people this story won't become one of Sadism and/or masochism....but it's to give you a jist of the Earl's character.

Also, I'm finished apologising for not updating...it's getting too repetitive.

December 21st 2004


	23. Plots, a Party, and an Engagement

**Chapter 23: Parties, Plots and an Engagement**

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Merry Christmas!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! screw political crap...Merry CHRISTMAS....hehehe.

Thank you to **Frosty Pickle Juice **for being my 70th review! ooooo, I don't like that glare...I'm sorry... :(

**Golden Rose** ah-hem....hehehehehe .:does a stupid, but amusing dance:. YES! NEW REVIEWER!!!!!!!!!!! Hmmm, in my haste and anxiety to keep it in ONE scene, I had forgotten about whats-er-face...Abby....(see, people-who-complained-about-too-many-scenes! I need those other scenes to remind me!). Yaya, good pint (wooops, had one too many of those, lol) **point **about the other nobles, I promise they'll be in chapter 23 and/or 24. Promise. I like your name.

**Misty**- Hmmm, thankyou very much indeedy! Yay! You all say it... '...an extremely well-written chapter.' HAH!

**Lindy**!!!!!!!!!!!!!! Mymy, your name's fun too...hehehehe! Thankyou thankyou and thankyou again! Kk, Yona in this chappie too!!!!!!!!!!!

Damn! I forgot the singing woodland creatures.....ooops. Don't feel pathetic, **Cheeky**, s'all good. I was reading stories on Christmas Day as well, none of them were any good however, but I was all like, 'I can't flame, 'em, it's Christmas, after all.' Kk, thanks much. I'm trying to outline my next few chapters now so that I have a backing when I go back to horror hall (the 'educational' .:coughcough torture coughcough facility:.) I can write quicker.

As much as some of you may have like the single-scene chapter, I hated it and shall continue my old way with a limit of 2-3 scenes as a compromise.

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" Quick, Jeanine...before she sees!" Marcus pulled Jeanine into the bushes and peered out through the leaves. The two held their breath as Ardella ran past. They breathed a sigh of relief as the younger DeBracey child passed them. Marcus leaned back against the tall oak shooting up from the clump of bushes they hid in and gave Jeanine an easy smile. 

" Della never checks here 'til later, so-"

" We're safe 'til she finds Antony." Jeanine finished for him and smiled back. She shushed him as she pointed to her brother, who was slinking along the treeline of the Dewhurst's apple orchard across the small clearing. His blonde hair shone in the pale afternoon sun and the two other children watched as he creeped along towards the 'Free' area. Suddenly the bushes near Antony rustled and Della burst out, her dark hair bouncing in their curls. Antony began running toward the small hedge where Della had counted, and she set out in a dead sprint after him, her skirts hitched up above her knees. They were ten feet from the hedge when Della suddenly snapped towards Antony like a hunted doe and hit him at his knees, bringing him down.

" Oof!" Della's laughter far out-sounded Antony's objections in regards to fair play. Marcus seized Jeanine's hand and they raced to the hedge. Before either Della or Antony realised, they were at the hedge, panting and lau,ghing.

" We win!" rejoiced Marcus. He walked over to Antony and knelt by him, " And you, poor fellow, lose! Horribly!" He managed to choke out before erupting into a fit of laughter.

* * *

'He was wonderful, even then.' Lady Jeanine thought 

" My dear, I say, Lady Jeanine, are you quite alright?" The small but plump Baron of Qualton's Rook inquired gently as he touched her arm in a uncle-like manner. He peered up at her through small, round spectacles and Jeanine looked down at the nobleman who had interrupted her recollections of her childhood.

" No, no, Baron, I am quite fine, I assure you. I was simply a tad overcome with a small worry, nothing to trifle over. Please forgive my inattentiveness, I am quite undone lately." Jeanine said, feeling guilt ooze through her belly. She quite liked the Baron, and was normally attentive, but nothing anyone said tonight seemed to be able to hold her attention like her memories of Marcus were.

The Baron nodded in understanding and continued chatting. Jeanine nodded and 'mmmm'ed at appropriate pauses (as expected) as she surveyed the largeish room. The small circular tables scattered about the room held floral arrangements, filling the evening air with the scent of gardenias and hyacinth. The noblewomen in their dark evening gowns each added their own scent to the air. The popular 'personalised perfume' rage had taken ahold of the Arulanthian Court, and all the noblewomen had a unique scent. 'Not a bad thing, really.' The blonde thought. The gentlemen they chatted with wore their caramel-coloured breeches with forest green, burgundy, deep blue or black shirts. All in all it would be a rather bleak assembly if it were not for the bright lights that glittered upon either gender's jewels.

Jeanine tuned into the Baron's one-sided conversation long enough to add a suitably long response of,

" Oh yes, it was a terrible shame really, we were all looking forward to his music," and returned to her searching of the crowd.

She picked out several handsome and desirable noblemen in attendance, along with the squires who when wearing their over-knight's colours stood out. A good thing for the handsome ones, a pity on the less comely. But though these men were quite out-numbered in their lady-admirers, none could have out-done Marcus DeBracey, accounted one of the best catches of the Arulanthian Court in a decade.

He was, of course, not in attendance, as conspicuously absent as he been at the last three balls and parties, though more so tonight. Tonight was sort of a welcome-home party for him, though it was never officially announced.

But his absence meant more than that the other virile males had more followers than usual, but also that Jeanine was without a beau or young man her own age that evening. As an engaged woman, she was no longer sought by other men. Her companions were, therefore, nobles too old for any gossip or her fiancé, who was 'not here.'she thought, disappointed. Her eyes grew worried as she searched thoroughly through the crowds of people.

Her gaze sharpened as the Duke of Lormington entered and was immediately set upon by a group of young noblewomen clustered by the door. 'Oh Solaro and Remaneen,' she prayed fervently, 'Let him keep his distance!' Jeanine tuned back into the elderly man beside her and nodded at his statement.

" Well I'll be moving on, then, milady. My Lady wife has finally come, wotwot! Came with her sister, Solaroburn me if I know why! Give that brother of yours my warmest regards, eh?" Jeanine assured him she would and smiled as he departed to greet his wife. She liked the Baron and Baroness of Qualton's Rook like she would a distant Uncle and Aunt.

She turned back to the doorway to shift accordingly if Lormington's Duke had moved closer. She turned and nearly upset her glass of wine in surprise as she looked directly into Hubert of Lormington's eyes. He smiled at her surprise and took her glass from her.

" A pity that Marcus is not here to assist you, darling." She flushed with embarrassment and anger and said quietly,

" You should not address me in such a familiar manner, Your Grace." She said as she edged subtly away from him. He smiled and stepped closer, far too close for an innocent chat. She pursed her lips and looked up at him. His blue eyes crinkled near the corners and his rough beard concealed what Jeanine knew to be the weak chin of a coward and bully. At least, a coward with other men. As long as there weren't any more men around he was in his element. Other women hadn't seemed to notice, but both Jeanine and her own circle had.

The Duke took placed her glass on a table used for the floral arrangements and pushed her gently but firmly out of the crowd.

" Now, Jeanine, is that really necessary? Use our given names is one gesture of our..." he leaned close to her and whispered in her ear, "intimacy." His warm breath on her neck filtered down to her breasts, making her shiver, but not with arousal. With nauseousness and disgust. Jeanine felt her throat constrict, her vomiting reflex acting up. She swallowed convulsively, trying to keep it down.

He pulled her towards the wall and stroked her cheek gently. 'He would mistake my shudder.' she thought, thoroughly irritated and somewhat afraid. Jeanine looked around desperately for someone to rescue her, but he had somehow manoeuvred close to the wall, near a corner. 'Oh Gods.' He angled his body so that if anyone looked, they were chatting, so that if anyone looked, he was not tracing her collarbone...and other more private places.

" This could be construed as assault, Duke Lormington" Jeanine warned as she tried to walk away. He pulled her back in,

" Perhaps...but you'd not do anything to hurt me...would you my little Jeanie?" She turned to face him, intending to either scream or say something to scare him. She didn't get that far. As she opened her mouth, he leaned in and kissed her.

Sort of. A kiss cannot be a kiss when it hurts, and Jeanine was hurting. Hubert of Lormington forced his tongue into her throat as he groped at her breasts.

Jeanine struggled, but it made little difference. He took his mouth away and whispered in her ear,

" Remember, my little whore, that I know you better than that dear little Count of yours....I know your mind. And body." She stared at him, her eyes filling with angry tears.

" I helped you. Could you not leave me be?" She whispered, her voice catching slightly. The Duke of Lormington smiled. " Leave you be? How can I, knowing what you have to offer?" he asked, taking his other hand off her breasts and gesturing towards her body. " Are you sure you don't want dear little Marcus to know about you...and me? You could be rid of me and my pesterings." Jeanine glared at him,

" You know he wouldn't marry me if he knew." She turned towards the wall and let her tears flow freely. 'If he knew....He's honourable, he would not make a scandal, but he would not marry me.' The thought made the woman's heart ache.

" No, he wouldn't...pity. But then you would be free to marry me, or continue in you other...occupations." She looked back at him, her gentle eyes filled with hate.

" I was young. I didn't know any better. You seemed so, so, wonderful. And Marcus was away, gone for what seemed like..." Jeanine paused, the hate filtering out of her eyes. "...an eternity." The hatred returned as the noblewoman continued. " You were there, and you took me. You took my _soul_...wasn't that enough for you? Do you have to pursue me? Why?" She glared at him, but the hopelessness overtook her and her tears overflowed.

The Duke felt a twinge of regret. He hadn't meant to confront her like this here. But he needed a favour.

" Why? Because I feel you may forget who has the power here, whore. If you are so desperate to be rid of me, do this one thing for me, and I'll leave you be." She looked up from her handkerchief, looking so forlorn.

" What is it? I'll do anything...." He smiled. 'I have her right where I want her.'

Quietly, he led her out of the ball room and away from the other nobles. Marcus watched them leave from his high vantage point.

Old castles are interesting as a rule, and almost always have ingenious hiding places. Marcus's hiding spot was behind a large floral arrangement on one of the ledges above the assembly. Half in shadow, half in the flickering of torchlight on the wall bracket. He plucked a hot-house carnation from the vase and left.

"Sir Marcus DeBracey!" The herald announced to the courtiers. A group of women flooded him as he entered, the flower in one hand.

Countess Ellen of Witherbury, watched him, smiling as he delicately fought his way from his admirers.

" I see you haven't lost your popularity. Welcome back Marcus." The Count smiled tightly and drew his sister-in-law towards a somewhat abandoned table.

" Have you seen Jeanine anywhere?" His friend and removed relative-by-marriage raised an eyebrow.

" Seeing as how you've been to at least two parties with your fiancé, I don't see how you can be inquiring after her now that you have abandoned her. Divorce her quietly, Marcus, if you love her no longer. But you mustn't play these games." Marcus shook his head and replied quietly,

" You know nothing about it, Ellen. Yes, I ought to have come to more parties, and yes, at least one would have been acceptable. But I have not abandoned her. I do not like parties, truly, I loathe them. Everyone knows this and yet they are surprised that I do not come. She has no need to come either."

" You know she adores seeing people. She loves dancing."

" Do you know anything of Jeanine's past?" The question was so startling that the Countess answered before she could think.

" Why, yes. She was-" She cut herself off there and glared at him. " How much do you know, Marcus?" Marcus sighed and ran his hand through his wavy hair.

" I know enough to say that most men would not marry her knowing what I know." Ellen of Witherbury's eyes widened.

" And still you proposed? You would still marry her?" She whispered, shocked.

" Aye. I mean yes... yes I would have."

" Wait. Would have? Why would you change for mind now?"

" Because of what I have just witnessed." Ellen looked at him, impatient. " She and the Duke of Lormington just walked out, incredibly close to one another. I do not know how she can stand being in the same palace as he, let alone close enough to touch. After what happened-!" Marcus shook his curly head and looked past Ellen to the door that Jeanine had exited through. Ellen followed his gaze.

" You ought to have followed them. Broken them apart and confronted them." She turned him to face her. " You showed your honour in many ways, not the least by proposing to a broken woman. Marcus, do you love her?"

* * *

Keosha help Abby out of bed, Lord Dewhurst on the Countesses other side. They held their breath as she walked unaided to the doorway of her room in the Healing Quarters. A nurse stood outside, waitng for her to continue. Abby began her daily ritual of walking down to the large doors and back again. She finally returned to the doorway and walked slowly back to her bed. 

Abby took one more tremulous step before collapsing onto the mattress. Keosha and Antony applauded happily.

" I'm getting better. Slowly, though." Abigail said as she gasped for air. After being in bed for two weeks, she needed to build up her strength.

" But you are right, Abby, your much quicker at it. I'm glad you insisted on beginning." The woman on the bed smiled tiredly.

" you'll come back at noon, to help me through it all again?" The serving woman nodded and Abby bid them farewell.

After they had gone an apprentice-nurse brought a tray to the table. Abby asked her to leave it on the table by the door. The woman left quietly.

Abby got up again and quickly walked over to the tray and without difficulty, carried it back. She ate ravenously, hungry from weeks being unconscious and unable to eat or nauseous and unable to keep anything down. Within minutes she finished her dish or thin soup and bread. She poked at the wobbly sort of jelly before swallowing that too.

' All in all, I am doing quite well.' she thought happily. 'It would never do for Keosha to know how well I'm doing already.' Abby shuddered at the thought of all those horrid balls. "It wouldn't do at all." she muttered.

* * *

" Iloria!" Yona embraced his friend happily. " Do you have anything?" he asked, grasping her shoulders. Iloria rolled her eyes. 

" What sort of thief do you think I am, Yona? Honesty, give me some credit...I _am _the best lifter in all of Lennicks." She grinned and sat down on the lumpy tavern bed. The woman bent down and rolled up her skirts, revealing two black bags strapped to her legs. She unbuckled them and opened them, drawing each item out individually.

" First is the Duke's. Here we have half his purse, 16 gold coins and four silvers. No coppers." She dug into the first bag again. " A pocket watch, of the best quality. Ummm, ah, yes... those papers you wanted." Iloria handed her employer the watch and a rolled scroll of paper, the Duke of Lormington's waxen seal, sealing the scroll-letter, which Yona examined with interest.

" Thank you. I need these very much." The brunette frowned,

" So this wasn't a job...its personal." Yona nodded as he read over the papers. He leaned forward,

" The Duke hired me for a job. And as with all employers, I watch them and spy on them as well. I became very suspicious of that noble, and now, thanks to you, my suspicions have be irrevocably confirmed." She shook her head, saying,

"The way you talk, most think your noble anyhow." She held up her hands to stop his indignant reply, " I know, I know, all good thieves and spies can change their identities, and you just happen to be better than good. Do you want to see what the Earl had on 'im?" Yona nodded and she opened the other bag.

" He was far more interesting. The used packaging of a sleep-amnesia spell, a small dagger, and..." She paused and Yona glared at her, " and a replica of the key to the King's outer rooms." She finished with a smile and handed the key to him. The slenderly-muscular man examined it closely.

" He made it himself...out of lead."

" A man of many talents, then." Yona nodded. He pocketed the key and placed the other things in a black bag of his own. Yona poured them both a glass of rum and they sat, staring out the grimy window, watching the trees of the Royal Forest sway in the breeze.

* * *

" The Royal Forest has played host to us for long enough. Two days from now, we leave." The Gypsy Master had announced over the morning meal. 

Hershel and Hinda wandered through the forest, listening to the swallows singing their own songs to one another.

" Hershel?"

" Hmmm?"

" What happens now?"

" Now, my little doe? Now I kiss you." Hinda received his kiss happily, but continued,

" No, though that was nice, what I mean is, do you love me enough to marry me? Or do we kiss and touch and then part?" Hershel raised an eyebrow at her, but not mockingly. He loved her too much for that. Hinda was flushed, it was an embarrassing thing to ask. 'Well,' she thought, 'Not so much embarrassing as awkward.'

They walked in what was not quite so comfortable a silence as before.

Finally, Hershel stopped her under a large tree, one with small white flowers growing on the ground and up the thick trunk. He bent, plucked some flowers and turned Hinda away, so her back was to him.

" Hinda, I love you. I love you way you smile, the way you laugh. I love the way you think and how you are direct, sometimes too much so for you are easily embarrassed. But I love you. And that's what matters." As he romanced her, he threaded the white, five-petaled flowers in her dark hair. When he was done, he turned her and kissed her softly, lovingly. He looked her in the eyes and told her this,

" I am but a poor gypsy, and far unworthy of you. For some reason you seem to love me, and as you know I love you too. I love you so much that if it were my choice, I would marry you now, with the woodland creatures for witnesses, with these flowers for your attendants, and those bushes as mine." Hinda's eyes filled with tears and she hugged him close. Hershel whispered the rest in her ear.

" You have shown me the world so differently that I could not bare to lose you. Hinda, if you would have me, I would marry you."

" I love you, Hershel. And I would marry you now." They ended their embrace and walked close together, back to the camp. Hershel resolved, as he stroked Hinda's arm and held her close, that he would ask her Father for permission that very day.

* * *

There, singing woodland creatures....or at least birdies...ok? 

Review! .: Glares evilly:. Do it..... Posted On: December 26th 'o4


	24. Enchantress of His Heartand Yona is Caug...

**Cheeky**: Yes,yes, there are singing birdies in this one too!lol, yes, it seem Marcus has decided about Jeanine and Abby...took him a while, though, i know. sorry about the suspense and how long it took for my story to actually do something...i know, i'll work on it in the future.

**Frosty PJ**: Hey, hey, which phrase did i steal...your welcome.

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**Chapter 24: Enchantress of His Heart...And Yona, Caught!

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**The sounds** of the party filtered out onto the obscure balcony where Marcus and Ellen stood. The frigid wind caused Ellen to shiver as Marcus struggled for the words...the answer to her question. 'Do I love her? After meeting Abigail of Mattensworth, after that elusive dream. Watching her sleep, watching her live...not on the brink of death as Father had said. I was so,' he paused, unwilling to admit such an emotion to himself. 'I was frightened for her. I wanted so much to rush in and scoop her in my arms and tell her that I loved her. But do I? Who do I love?'

Ellen watched her friend carefully. She knew he was an honourable man. But even honourable men's affections change. She broke the silence and told him as much,

" But what proves a man's honour is the path he takes once he is aware of his change of affections. Does he leave her gently, telling her of this change? Does he not tell her at all, believing it be better that she does not know? To be a true noble, Marcus," she shook her head, ruefull. " To be a true noble is something that not many of those in the nobility are. It is a lost characteristic."

" Which path, Ellen, for a man who does not know with whom his affections lay?" There was a brief pause before Ellen asked quietly,

" Who?" The single word was spoken with gentleness. With understanding. Marcus shook his head and sighed, wondering whether to bother telling her.

" Her name is Abigail of Mattensworth. I met her while in the Mattensworth estate area." With those sentences, the Count knew he condemned himself. Ellen would not condone frivolous and ever-changing affections.

"And what happened, without too much detail?" She asked, her voice hard.

" I mistook her for a common servant, she was alone on the road at night. She first insisted she was a servant, but her voice revealed her. When I confronted her, she told me her true identity, though I did not believe her. I, er, escorted her to the Mattensworth estate, and her maid identified her convincingly. I apologised and-" He paused and breathed deeply. " I kissed her, Ellen. I kissed her. She was..wonderful in my arms." He turned towards her, his eyes filled with an anguish she could almost feel. " I dream of her, Ellen, I dream of her...not in any perverted or, or unchaste way, but I see her face and I long for her. I want to, to feel her skin, and her eyes..." Marcus stopped himself and turned to look his friend in the face. Ellen's eyes had strayed to the night darkened forests, her lips tight in an emotion that Marcus felt to be disapproval lavished with disappointment.

Ellen of Witherbury stood silently for a long time, her friend awaiting her response with apprihensive dread. The cool wind blew over them both, causing the Count to shiver slightly, but Ellen ignored it, so deep she was in thought.

When Marcus though he could stand the silence no more, she turned, her grey eyes sad but sure.

" If you so long for this Countess, this Earl's Daughter," she stopped, mastered herself, and continued, " You must break your engagement to Jeanine. Then go to this Countess Abigail. This enchantress of your heart."

Music from the ensemble in the small ballroom drifted on to the balcony and over the two figures. The melodies wandered over the stone walls and over the small hedges of the gardens into the audibly inattentive ears of two women.

* * *

**The Queen** squinted at the scrap of paper in her hand, almost unable to read the words written in the moonlight. 

_' You have paid me in full. The vial will arrive with a fortnight of this message.'_

Never had the Queen felt so scared, but excited. Was this it? Was the message true? Would she finally carry a child that would live? Would the half-elven gypsy finally keep this promise? Had she finally decided that the Queen had suffered enough?

She handed the message back to Natalia with trembling fingers. The other woman placed a soothing hand on Moraine's shoulder as she read the short note.

Without a word, she sat down on the stone bench with her sovereign and friend. The Queen pulled her heavy cloak closer and Natalia hugged her around the shoulders.

There they sat for a long time. Each hoping that the note would be the beginning of the end of the Queen's sufferings.

* * *

**The sun** broke through the trees, lighting the castle, and heralding the dawn. A herd of deer ran through the Royal Forest, startling a small flock of sparrows into flight. 

Their wings carried them out and over the forest, transporting them towards the castle. They flew past the Earl's room, and, being sparrows, did not mark his empty and unused bed. They flew down towards the servant's quarters, the beds had been used, made and their former occupants long gone in their duties. The flock wheeled around and up, past the window of a quivering blonde noblewoman, who sent her calling maidservant away. The flock finally settled on the window sill of one of the Healing Quarters rooms.

A man stood in the doorway, watching the sleeping woman beside the window. Before he knew what his feet were doing, they had carried him over to the bedside. Marcus's green eyes flickered (as all men's will) over her slim body, but settled on her face. She was sleeping. 'My Enchantress.' he thought, using the name Ellen had bitterly bestowed upon her. He watched her for a minute, simply contented to see her. ' Just my luck,' the young man thought after a while, ' Both times I come, she sleeps.'

He turned, his conscience weighing heavily upon him, knowing that this confrontation would have to wait until his encounter with the Lady Jeanine Dewhurst. Marcus ran a hand through his longish hair and turned, prepared to obey his urging conscience.

But as if she had felt his presence, Abby's eyes fluttered open, a clear grey.

" Marcus?" The noble stopped in his tracks, his heart pounding in his throat, all because of that soft, slightly scratchy voice.

Abby couldn't believe it. Marcus was here! Or maybe it wasn't him...

" Sir DeBracey?" Her voice felt shaky and she cursed silently, knowing that it was probably worse that she thought. The man still hadn't turned, ' Gods, it probably isn't even him! Oh, I've made a fool of myself yet again.'

The young noble closed his eyes tightly. Slowly he turned, agitated and scared, oh, so scared. When he faced her, Abby had sat up in the bed, the white gown she wore floating about her figure. Her dark, wavy hair cascaded over her shoulders, thin after her illness. The thinness extended to her face, emphasising her lips and eyes. Countess Abigail's eyes brightened upon seeing his face and in her happiness, she breathed his name, softly and joyously...

" Marcus."

Before he knew what had passed, he knelt by her bedside, hugging her tightly to him. He murmured into her frail shoulder, tears escaping his eyes and running disregarded down his face.

" I heard you were sick...I heard you were dead...I thought...." He pulled away and stood, suddenly formal. " But I am being presumptuous, Countess. Please, I have come to inquire after your welfare."

Abby blinked. And Yona knew his thoughts echoed hers, ' He has already embraced her unrestrained... why does he become mannerly now?' The spy leaned closer, careful not to scare the flock of sparrows resting on the ledge.

" You are too kind, Lord Count. I am quite well." Abby made the transition to courtly manners with only a sliver of trouble, hiding her confusion with much the same ease, though her eyes she hadn't quite mastered. They turned slightly brownish, but Abby hid them under her lashes.

Yona sighed silently, 'I hate nobles' games.' He leaned forward, trying to catch the Lord Count's expression, and moved his hand down the branch he leant on. He forgot the recent rain and his hand slipped, and Yona with his hand.

He scrambled to catch ahold of the ledge, hoping he wouldn't have to make the three storey fall. 'Wouldn't be that hard but...' He finally grasped the ledge, cursing his afterthought, ' The birds...! Damn.' The spy cursed as the flock scattered at his grasping hand.

" What was that?" Abby turned towards the window, where there was a whirl of feathers, then a thud.

Marcus pushed the window open further, and leaned out...barely able to catch a glimpse of a black clothed figure, slinking along the shadows of the wall.

Without so much as a glance to the woman on the bed, the young man climbed out the window, onto the tree and shimmied down, ' With unusual skill for a grown man...' Abby thought, watching from the window. She grinned, then noticed what Marcus was chasing a shadow...

" Oh...it's a person!" she realised aloud as Marcus, with a burst of speed ran after the figure. They ran almost the length of the wall before the young noble grabbed ahold of the black-clothed person's shirt and dragged him down.

Marcus dodged the person's kick, only to be felled by a drop-kick with Yona's other leg. Falling heavily, the nobleman reached up and grabbed Yona's opposite wrist and yanked, bringing the spy down beside him. With lightening-quick speed that made Abby gasp, Yona flipped the noble down into the dirt and straddled him, pinning him hard onto the ground.

Marcus grunted in frustration. 'Damn! Bastard knows how to wrestle!' He tensed his legs, and Yona leaned back, preparing to stop any attack from his legs. Nimbly, Marcus pushed himself up and twisted, pegging the spy down on the ground.

They struggled with each other, but Marcus kept his advantage.

" Tell me why you were listening." Yona snorted, kept silent and continued to struggle. Marcus sighe dand drew a short, glinting dagger. He held it to the spy's throat as he said courtiously, " Forgive me, I didn't quite capture your explanation, what was that?" Yona eyed the man's hand, barely glimpsing the hilt of the dagger, silently reviewing his options.

It had been a while since he'd been caught. 'I s'pose now's about my time. Rather humbling to be brought down by a noble, though.'The spy thought over his situation.Yona disliked his employer. A sneaky little fool, but he paid far more than any spy was worth, Yona almost grinned as he thought of the amassing wealth from the past three weeks... 'Enough to retire me and Iloria well.' Yona shrugged, a difficult feat as Marcus still had him pinned to the ground.

The man made his decision.

" Ah yes, well the birds were chirping rather loudly just now, I understand your missing my reason. What I said was that I am doing what my employer asked." Yona smiled, not caring that the other man couldn't see due to the mask he wore. ' After all, I'm not above playing the double-spy.' Marcus raised an eyebrow, surprised that the man hadn't struggled and kept silent.

" Go on." Yona sighed.

" Must you pry?"

" Yes," Marcus growled, " I must."

" Ah, well then. My employer wants me to watch you so I can tell my employer what you do."

" Very specific of you, but who is your employer and why does he-she?" Yona remained silent, " Why does your employer care what we do?" Yona thought for a moment.

" If you stop kneeing me in the stomach and let me up, I'll continue."

"You'll promise on Solaro'sheart that you'll not run away."

" Hmm...strong oath...alright, I promise on Solaro'sheart that I won't run when you let me up...I'll stay to be questioned." Marcus got up and offered Yona his hand. As Yona took the offered limb, Marcus looked up at Abby's window and waved reassuringly, not wanting to alert the guards by shouting. He turned back to the other man and applied his question,

" So, who are you?"

* * *

Yay! My story's going somewhere! .: Does little, satisfied dance:. :D kk, please review.....Chrischelle, Frosty Pickle J, Cheeky, Lindy, Misty, GoldenRose, Malistaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa (sorry, couldn't resist mate!), LovingLife, Enigma, FouFou, Zagato, Charming, Alicia, Nosilla, SukiYumi, Lalaith, and Kaio (my first reviewer!). 

I love you all (and doubly if you review!),

Galadvende


	25. A Wedding, A Theft, and a Murder

**Chapter 25: A Wedding, a Theft and a Murder

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**Frosty PJ**, my thanks... and my apologies for .:glares evilly:. But you didn't copyright it...I hope. -.- 

Also Thank you to **Briar Rose **for the complements, and yes, I intend to update soon. _(Well i **DID** intend to...sorry)_

How'd I cliffhanger you? Ah...nvm. Lol, I know, guys suck! Juicy, hey?...I like it...lol. I'm not sure what the world's coming to and yes, this chappie will explain _(or, i had thought it would)._ Thanks, **Cheeky**!

My, my there were a lot of you people reviewing...my thanks (that was sarcasm for those nitwits out there)...where are my precious reviewers...not dissing you three...one more and I wouldn've had eighty...**80!

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**

**Yona** slipped out of a window in on the castle's third floor. Quietly, he snaked down the long, black rope attached to the window above him. Once firmly on the ground, he ducked into the shadows and tugged the rope. The special device at the top folded itself and dropped to the dirt, where it was quickly brushed off, then, after the rope had been coiled around it, placed carefully back into it's slot in one of the spy's numerous buckled packs attached to Yona's arms and legs.

The spy had spent the last two hours with the Knighted Count, Marcus DeBracy, explaining himself. Not as well as the Count would've liked, but as straight answers as one can get from a spy not employed by the questioner.

As far as Sir DeBracey knew, his name was Yona, he worked for Duke of Lormington, and indirectly the leader of the Green Coterie Mother Iku. The spy knew that the Count wanted more, but the spy knew his limits. Finally, far from satisfied, Sir DeBracey let Yona go, on the condition that he would meet three days from today.

Few people had ever gotten Yona to talk. Hinda and Hershel were the two besides Iloria with whom Yona had shared. The spy led a solitary life, not really needing to work, but doing so out of pure enjoyment for his craft. A spy needed to be sharp, in the mind and body.

Within an hour from departing from the palace, the spy had reached the gypsy ring, situated near a small village. Gypsy weddings always happened at night. He watched from the crook of a comforting oak. The plants had stopped flaring with light when he came near...Hershel told him that it was because they had gotten used to his presence.

The ring around the fire had been cleared and white petals were scattered around. All the gypsies were dressed in their best. Skirts of bright, natural hues reached between the ankle and mid-calf were paired with the natural, unbleached cream of cotton for the women. They lined their eyes with kohl acquired from trades with pirate merchants (yes, there are such people) and looped their ears with the golden hoops. Golden bracelets adorned their wrists and ankles, and they sashes flowed as they swirled around the fire, dancing an energetic polo. The men, dressed in their usual loose shirts and pants, the pants tucked into calf-high boots, danced with them, a colourful array of colour and joy. The men wore sashes, just as vibrant in colour as the women's, which were tied about their waists. The men would also line their eyes with kohl, though it tended to be messier than their female counterparts.

Yona watched happily as the caravan danced, joyful in the anticipation of the union about to commence. Finally, after a zesty finish, the sound of a wooden flute filled the night air, instilling a sweet strain of beauty to the forest's spirit. Hershel walked through an opening between two wagons. His dark curls bounced as he walked around the circle of his friends and family. Meir came out when he had finished the round journey, holding two braided rings made of Hershel and Hinda's locks and also two plain gold rings. He finished his own round and stood beside his brother, the two sets of rings carefully balanced on a set of linen cloth.

The crowd held their collective breath as Hinda entered, dressed in a simple white gown trimmed with bright green. Threaded through her dark hair was a crown of white flowers and green leaves. Her eyes were also lined with kohl, though far more conservatively then the other women's, and the cosmetic enhanced her already lovely brown eyes.

She walked in time to the melody of the flute round the fire and past her intended. Everyone's, but especially Hershel's eyes, followed her, entranced. She walked gracefully, the long sleeves and skirt of her white dress flowed out behind her.

The flute's music ended, as her walk around the circle finished. She stood and faced Hershel from the opposite side of the fire, her hair streaming from her shoulders. Mutely, Meir handed them each a ring of hair and they slipped their own on their middle finger. Loudly, but specially, they spoke together, and everyone hung on their words,

" Hair of my love, braided with my mine own; a symbol of our new unity. Set upon our fingers to remind us of our togetherness." Meir handed them each a golden ring, and over the flames, Hershel held out his left hand to his beloved, who placed the ring too large for herself on his finger next to the pinky. She in turn, held out her own left hand, and upon her forth finger, he placed the golden ring he held.

Quietly they spoke,

" With these rings I show you the gift of my heart, my body and my soul." Hinda spoke,

" I give you my love until I die and after. I give you my soul in perfect purity. I give you my body in perfect purity. And above all, I give you my love in it's imperfect, but complete purity." She flushed prettily and plucked a single white jasmine flower from her hair and held it over the fire. Hershel received it and said in return,

" I also present to you my love. I shall love you until I die. I shall provide for you until I cannot move any longer. I shall protect you before myself. I present to you my whole self, pure and unspoilt. I have saved my wealth and intimacy for you and our marriage." The two people asseverated as one,

" I love you. I will love you until I die. My flame of love will not diminish like this fire around which we stand, rather it is my most solemn wish that it would grow and flourish. Together, we will flourish...together we are one." As they spoke, the flame rose and seemed to envelope them.

In the tree, Yona stifled his instinct to jump down and pull them out, but the other gypsies had made a move. They watched with intensity, as after a moment of consideration, the spy followed suit.

The flames rose and turned a blinding light, causing everyone to look away. When they turned their gazes back to the fire and the couple in it, the flames had decreased to a normal fire-ring and the newly wed couple stood, still wrapped up in a passionate kiss.

The cheers of their caravan startled and interrupted the couple, causing them to break apart. They, as with their surrounding friends and family, laughed and the festivities began. A mandolin, tambourine and fiddle joined the flute, adding to the happy tone.

Yona watched, relaxing the tree. After an hour or so, he quietly tapped both bride and groom on their shoulders and drew them away from their well-wishers.

" I am so pleased for you both." Yona handed them each a white rose. Hershel tucked it in his collar and helped his wife tuck it into her hair. " I wish you a loving and beautiful marriage." The young gypsy man gripped his friend's arm gratefully and Hinda leaning against her husband's chest, nodded,

" Thank you so much Yona." She glanced up fondly at her husband she spoke, " I understand that you first pointed out an eligible woman to my dear Hershel...and for that I thank you." Hershal flushed slightly.

" Yes, I thank you... if you had not nudged me towards her, I would still have been floundering with my life, wondering." Yona nodded and after more expressions for their new life, took his leave, much to the couple's disappointment.

" Stay, Yona...sit with Meir, talk with him, he has missed you." Yona shrugged and made no promises. He disappeared into the forest, but only a few feet into the darkness, he stopped.

Meir sat with a trencher of food infront of him, eating steadily. He periodically glanced up at his brother and his new sister. He smiled at what he saw, obviously reveling in their joy. Yona sat beside him and Meir silently offered him a piece of white cheese. The spy accepted gratefully and ate.

The man clothed in black unconsciously forsook his plans for the rest of the evening and spent it sitting with Meir, watching the celebration dances and munching on the food provided.

The celebrations went on long into the night, even after Hershel and Hinda had retired to their newly build caravan wagon, which still smelt of cedar. The gypsies danced and ate and made many toasts to the absent couple as the stars grew more vivid in the black

* * *

**The beginnings** of golden sunlight shone warmly in the early morning, heating the city. A messenger clattered over the cobbled streets into Lennick's Marketplace, drenched from the nocturnal rainstorm that he had traveled through. In his pouch, he held numerous letters, and a small package.

He reined his tired horse and dismounted. As the man searched for the pre-paid for inn that he was to stay at, several anonymous figures followed at a distance. Suddenly a man clothed in black dropped from a balcony, startling both the man and his mount.

" What's the matter with you!" The messenger snapped as he calmed his horse. The man to whom he spoke didn't answer his question. Instead, he demanded the messengers pouch in a rough voice. " My pouch? Are you insane? I can't be given my pouch away...be off!" The man began leading his mount forward, but the glimmer the other man drawing a sword stopped him.

' Lovely, a thief! Bloody hell...' the messenger slipped his gloved hand into a pocket and fingered the spell-scroll that his preceding messenger had given him along with the pouch of deliveries. The mail system worked in said way, save with private mail. The people in an area would bring their parcels or letters to a designated spot, where they would be sorted as to their destination. Each week, they would be sent off by messenger, who would meet a replacement, hand off the pouch of deliveries to his successor, who would travel to another meeting spot and do the same. This would continue until the final destination.

The previous messenger had given him the spell scroll, telling him to use it if there were any troubel getting to Lennick's Marketplace. 'Perhaps this was what he meant.'

The man infront of the messenger spoke again,

" You will give me your pouch and leave with your life...refuse and you surrender your life to my blade."

" You can't make me. Someone'll hear...you'll be caught and whatever it is you want will be found by the authorities...this is useless." the messenger tried to convince his opponent of what he himself did not believe. The marketplace was full of people, but they did not abide by the Palace Guard's law...the sheriffs were easily and periodically bribed to ignore any misdoings.

At the messenger's words, the man infront and those behind and to his every angle laughed mockingly. The man turned, realizing with amazement and fear that he was surrounded. His grip tightened on the spell-scroll.

" Give us your pouch, fool. These matters are above you." The man cursed silently and sent out a plea to Solaro and Remaneen... ' Tell my Annie I love her...tell her to marry Ned. Tell her I loved her.' With a snap, he broke the small scroll in half. Instantly, a dark mist grew and expanded around him.

A yell went up from the assassins and thieves. The messenger ran in the direction that he hoped he would be able to get through, leaving his poor horse behind.

A chance and unaimed back slash caught him on the back and he gasped, but staggered on. The mist lessened as he ran as speedily as his bleeding body could carry him down the narrow alley. In his pounding ears, he heard the scrape of fabric against the rough walls.

He turned, unsure if it was his clothes or a pursuer...

**Nell**, a kitchen wench in the Drifting Vagabond Tavern and Inn, walked quickly through the misty morning. She wound her way familiarly through the winding cobblestone roads her work. She turned into the alley which would open to the street where the Drifting Vagabond was situated.

Suddenly, she stumbled, dropping the basket of apples which she had bought with her Employer's coins. She cursed. The apples, should they be lost or harmed would come from her pay.

Nell looked down to see what had caused her loss and stifled a gasp. A man lay on the cold ground, a deep wound in his back and several through his gut. This insides were outside of his body; obviously he was dead. Nell knelt, and, keeping her eyes on his face, recognized him. Euan, the messenger. She checked his mail pouch. It still contained many letters, nothing else, but a few letters from the orchard county of Arulanthu.

She shrugged and plucked the satchel from his cold, still form. 'Many people die, but the mail still needs to be delivered.' She thought practically.

The woman gathered her apples and walked through the alley to her tavern. She would tell Varden, her employer about Euan and he'd tell one of the sheriffs. Hopefully, the sheriff would be quick enough so that the body wouldn't began to stink.

* * *

**The Queen** rung her hands...the messenger with the vial of Tuliane Flower Cordial was due today... would the old gypsy follow through? The half elven gypsy woman had promised that it would be sent with haste and a precaution against theft. A spell-scroll of Black Mist, was the protection, though the Queen did not know the particulars. All she knew was that the protected vial was to arrive that day...anxiously, she watched the sun bathe the city in it's golden light... and waited.

Posted on February 12th, 2005


	26. A Royal Decree and It's Consequences

**Chapter 26: A Royal Decree and It's Consequences.

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**Frosty**: Raspberries! Thanks...I think.

**Cheeky**: OUCH! Giving up the internet for Lent...that sucks. Poor you. big tear rolls down 'Vende's cheek I pity you...my parents were kind enough to NOT pressure my sibs. And I to participate in Lent...ug for you. Still, I have the _utmost respect _that you are able to do without.

I thank you for your lengthy review...I love those. Gotta love Captain Jack Sparrow...god I love that movie. I thank you for your lovely compliments in regards to the wedding scene...you won't like this chappie if you want a 'happily ever after' bit for those two (in your words) positively precious people...lol, not mocking you.

Well this is the definitive chapter, I hope...and yesyes, Yona is sort of working for the Green Coterie. I hope to make things clearer in the chapter or next.

Read on!

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**King James** of Arulanthu stared at the report which lay on this large desk. He looked up at his friend and spy, known to him as Auden. The man, currently dressed as one of the king's men, waited, wondering if the King would inquire further. He was not disappointed.

" You are certain? You are sure in these facts?" The spy nodded and the king stopped speaking. He soon dismissed him after giving him the sum of the spy's total expenses with his usual fee.

King James waited until the other was gone before telling his personal manservant that he would be indisposed to see any more people today. Tomorrow he would see them. The young man left and when the heavy door had 'thunked' into place, the king pulled the cord, which after a moment, pulled back a tapestry. He walked over to the apparently solid stone wall behind it and eased his fingers into the cracks between the stones.

For a few minutes together he felt, patient with the confidence of his eventual discovery. After those minutes had passed, he found a small latch, which, when tugged, consequently moved three stones, forming a doorway. The king pulled the cord again and walked through the newly formed doorway, which led him down a narrow passage.

One of the ends of the passage was at the Queen's chambers. He stood behind the very wooden door that Natalia had used on her mistress's bidding and watched through the small spy-hole that only the King knew of.

He waited until the Queen was alone, which did not take very long. As soon as her adjoining doors were closed, he entered the room quietly. She sat on her bed, her hands covering her face, acting as a flimsy barrier against the sobs which racked her frail body.

Without a word, he sat down beside her and held her.

Thus they sat for what may have been hours, so intense was their mutual misery. Finally, the king spoke.

" The messenger was killed?" The Queen nodded, the shock that held her making her unable to wonder that her husband knew anything at all of the matter. He rubbed her back comfortingly. " The vial is not lost, perhaps." The queen shook her head,

" No. It is lost. There is not a spell in the world that can find it...so many sorcerers have tried and failed...as I have." With these words, the woman began to sob again and her husband drew her close to him. He knew the pain she went through, though perhaps not the strain. They had both known that she had been trying to obtain and pay off the half-elf gypsy for the vial of Tuliane Flower Cordial, although she had a worry that he had not: keeping her endeavours quiet from her husband and law-abiding King.

The King and Queen wept together for a while. The rest of the day was spent in the other's company, which quietly soothed the other's chipped and beaten hearts.

* * *

**The next** morning the king issued a decree.

The scribes copied it carefully and gave it to the king's messengers, who gave it to the king's guards. By the time the sun was at it's zenith, the guards were riding for the forests, they mail cleaned and their weapons sharpened.

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**At nearly **five in the afternoon, Hershel and Hinda's caravan was surrounded by Royal Guards. A man with a gruff voice called out,

" Who is your leader, your wagon-master?" Azzan jumped down from his wagon and walked over to the man who had asked.

" I am he. Why is it that you are here?" The sergeant snorted without elegance.

" You ask as if you have a right to be here. By law, you gypsies aren't allowed to camp in the forests. His Majesty was lenient on you." The man grinned, revealing teeth that had seen too much ale. " But not anymore, scum. We've orders to bring you to the palace on the charge of illegal camping and conspiring to cheat their Majesties with unlawful intentions. You will come with us without any trouble." The gypsies exchanged subtle glances with each other.

Azzan's back was towards most of them and unbeknownst to the Royal Guards, he was giving rapid hand signals to his caravan. They read,_ Keep calm, have weapons ready, be subtle_. The Gypsies listened as their wagon-master tried to reason with the Guards.

" His Majesty has always been kind to us...wouldn't he give us time to leave? A warning?" The sergeant shook his head,

" You gypsies had it easy enough for a damn long time...you're to come with us without a fuss."

The ruckus that issued was short and bloody. Five guards were down by thrown daggers in a matter of seconds, but gypsies were not permitted to carry long swords, and getting them out of hiding was not a quick task. The nomads were taken in less than three minutes. The men were placed in irons, the women and children kept in their wagons.

* * *

**Abigail **had finally left the Healing Quarters. She kept mainly to her room, but she had convinced Keosha that a walk outside would do her good. They were crossing over a bridge when the Royal Guards were herding the gypsies into the Back Courtyard. The two women watch as they were taken out of their caravans and into the castle.

Yona sat down beside Abby unnoticed.

" They will imprison them until the King forgets. Children will never see their Fathers; husbands will never see their wives; they will never see their families again."

Abby and Keosha jumped, and the noblewoman glared at the spy, who was staring sadly at the disappearing gypsies. Her gaze softened as her friend asked,

" Why won't they see their families?" The man shook his head and hopped from the ledge onto to the bridge.

" They imprison the men separately from the women and children. Within hearing range, but not seeing or touching." Abby gasped.

" That's barbaric!" Yona glanced sharply at her,

" Why don't you tell your King that...you nobles think you're so high, but you're just as low as the rest of us." He spoke without malice or accusation, but Abby flushed.

" I knew nothing of this before you said, Yona." The man shook his head, but Abby still had the impression that she was forgiven. The trio watched until the wagons had been searched and stripped of possessions. Yona kept silent, intent on the division of the items taken from the caravan.

Hinda and Meir were lucky to have been shoved into the same cell, crammed indecently in with ten or more other women and children. The boy sat on Hinda's lap, and she held him comfortingly. Every once in a while he turned his head up to look at her face.

She was pale, the healthy and happy glow of her fresh marriage decimated by their sudden capture and separation. Her hands were cold, clammy. Meir saw a trace of a tear on her icy cheek, there green eyes seemed glassy, like the beads that they traded.

Already, both groups had made the realisation that they could call out to each other, only to be silenced by threats from the guards. One man had disregarded their threats and had paid. Meir could still hear the horrible sound of the guard's cudgel upon connecting with the man's flesh. The loud _whump! Whump! Whump! _Had made a forever impression on the young boy's mind.

Night had fallen, and the stench that had over whelmed the poisoners abated with the sun's heat. With the stink, the light also left, the only illumination came from the eerie and wavering light from the torches in the brackets lining the corridors in the dungeon.

Hershel squeezed his way towards the window, past the men strewn about the cell, dreaming restless and tremulous dreams. The cool summer's night air soothed the gypsy's feelings, though the air also reminded him of the cut on his cheek. His handsome face was marred by the laceration, which had bleed profusely for quite a while. Finally, the cut had clotted, and his queasiness and faintness from the blood-loss subsided.

The young man stayed at the window for hours. His thoughts consisted of two things, Meir, his little brother...how was he? Had he been hurt in the skirmish or had he hidden as Hershel had signalled? The second matter which occupied his thoughts were of his newly made wife. His heart felt like a piece of tenderised meat from the butcher's. The pain of not knowing of her welfare ate at him, and he nearly succumbed to tears in his grief, but his mettle shone through, and now he prayed unceasingly for their deliverance of them all, but most especially for Hinda's safety.

The young man paused a moment in his prayer, and looked up at the sliver of moon that resided in the sky above him. Suddenly, Yona's face filled the window. Hershel felt the urge to smile in relief, though his sadness dampened the impulse.

" I am glad to see a friendly face, _gershom_." Hershel named the spy as a friend, and Yona felt honoured in the naming.

" How are you holding up, then?" The man behind the barred window shrugged,

" As well as I can, I suppose...can you get to Hinda's cell?" The man nodded, but interrupted the other man before he could continue.

" I come not to deliver messages, Hershel. I have some friends who can help you all get out by nightfall tomorrow." The excitement and elation that filled the young man's eyes made Yona upset. Such cruel treatment of human beings should not happen!

" How can we help?"

" Reassure your people that we're helping...keep them calm." Hershel nodded in understanding.

" Who is it that you spoke of...who'll help such as us?" Yona grinned.

" Nobles."

" WHAT!" Yona's arm snaked through the bars and he clamped his gloved hand over the gypsy's mouth.

" Quiet!" he hissed frantically. The man nodded, but his eyes still shone with anger and resentment. After a moment or so, his breathing returned to relative normality and he whispered an inquiry,

" What _noble _would help us?"

" You'd be surprised. I found a decent bunch." Hershel shook his head and muttered indistinctly and Yona tired to reassure his friend. " I know, I have a dislike of them too... but I think we can trust these ones..."

The spy and the gypsy talked details of their plot for a quarter hour. Yona left with the changing sentries on the palace wall, Hershel watching him go, greatly calmed. He leaned against the cold, stone walls, and thought of Hinda as he slept fitfully.

* * *

**The Knighted** Count DeBracey listened closely to the spy's plot. Only a few minuets had passed before he agreed, angered at the mistreatment of the gypsies.

It took Marcus all of a quarter hour to convince his Father, the Count to intercede on the gypsies' behalf. The young man took his Father down to the dungeons to view the captives. One young man picked his way to the front of the cell and held out a hand. The guard accompanying the two noblemen reached out to shove the arm back into the cell but the Count ordered him back to his post,

" We'll keep well away from them, we'll call should we need your expertise." The guard, somewhat flattered, nodded and left them alone. The Count looked over at his son who asked,

" Will you help, Father?" A tense moment passed. Finally, the older man nodded and Hershel and Marcus smiled in relief. The young nobleman turned and looked into the gypsy's green eyes, which gleamed in the light of the candle held by the Count. Hershel opened his hand, revealing a golden rose petal. Sir DeBracey nodded and held out his own hand, exposing a slightly rumbled and bruised golden petal. The two men smiled in recognition and the two nobles left.

Dawn broke over the palace. The King woke after a few minutes, still in his queen's sleeping quarters. After placing a subtle kiss on his wife's brow, he made his way through the passageway and back to his own rooms, just in time to answer his valet's morning knock.

An hour later, the King sat at his large desk, the Count DeBracey before him.

" What have the gypsies done? Why is your Majesty imprisoning them so unjustly?" The Kings ran his hand through his hair, sighing.

" It isn't for you to question your King, DeBracey."

They debated for oven an hour, and when the Count exited his son met him. One look was all it took for Marcus to know that the King had not relented. Together, father and son walked through the stone corridors and out to the garden, where Marcus took another rose petal from an obliging pocket.

They left the gardens quickly for the stables, where they saddled their mounts themselves and left for the city, where they had much business on the gypsies' behalf.

* * *

**A black** gloved hand picked up the crumpled petal from the stone bench in the gardens. Regarding it closely, Yona noticed that there was a small piece of paper which had been crumpled inside of the petal. Quickly, he unrumpled both and read the note to himself.

' So they were unable to convince the King.' The spy thought with irritation. ' That King is making things difficult! How rude for such a famed diplomat.'

* * *

Posted on February the 26th of the year 2005. 


	27. An Escape, a Demandan Arrest

**Chapter 27: The Escape, the Demand...an Arrest**

**

* * *

Lizzie Black**... Does New Reviewer Dance hehehe, thank you. I suppose you realised that you sent me 21 reviews in one day... I love you. You love my characters...I love you! Hehehehehe...I am sooooo pleased that you found my story...yay! I love that you're experiencing all this excitement in one night...sometimes its better to begin a story when the author's already written a bunch. AND you hate my villains...I still love you. 

**Cheeky!** Yay...but, Cheeky, you know how he's involved...he's employed by the Duke of Lormington, who is employed by Mother Iku...okok, good luck with the lack of internet.

**Aphrodite**: hello...and thank you thank you...Does a modified version of NEW REVIEWER DANCE yay...I'm tryin...but I'm really busy.

**Liz**: yup, the King's acting on impulse and pain...not good at all...thanks for the reminders and such...read on!

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**At about** nine in the morning, the guards rotated. At nine thirty, the call for rotation sounded again. Hershel waited without any real aim for the next guard to arrive. The young man leaned against the bars, expecting at any moment the heavy trod of the guard's feet. 

None arrived. The rest of the gypsies noticed as well and most pressed their faces against the bars in curiosity. A few minutes after the call had sounded, Yona slipped through the dungeon. In his hand, he held a ring of keys, muffled to keep the jingling nonexistent.

Within minutes, the three cells holding the women and children were empty. Marcus and the Count's business in the city had convinced three young men to accept employment for the day. The men herded the people through the twisting and nearly empty dungeon, admonishing them gently to keep quiet. They did so, practised as they were in sleuth. The women and children held the bangles that had not been taken close to them, dispelling any unnecessary noises.

Fifteen minutes from the time that Yona had unlocked the cell, they occupants of the first three cells were off the palace grounds, smuggled away by the three hired men and three compassionate servants. A small tunnel of the Troll King's era as the owner of the palace made a very convenient escape for the bootlegged gypsies.

The men had taken a different and less safe rout from their cells. The old and injured of both groups had been taken directly from their cells to a waiting hay-wagon in the inner courtyard, where they lay them under heaps of hay.

The spy waited in the shadows, glancing at his pilfered pocket-watch. ' Two minutes.' He thought, 'Two minutes until the guard call. Two minutes to get away...not enough time.' The man slipped from the shadows of the inner courtyard and into the dungeons. He took up a fighting stance at the entrance of the dungeons.

A prisoner peered through the bar of his cell. Old, emaciated and dirty, the man called out in a wheezing voice,

" You! Let me out..." Yona glanced at him.

" My business is not with you. Kindly leave me be." The man coughed before baiting the black-clothed man further,

" I'll tell them guards of the Count and his son's visit..they'll be imprisoned for you doings...how'd ya like that, eh?" Yona clenched and unclenched his jaw, ' Years of imprisonment may have taken effect on his body, but his wit is much intact...to much so.' Then, he asked the man what his crime was. The man's dull eyes took on a gleam and he began his story,

" I were but a lad of seventeen, ready to marry my Yarnala...were in Lennick's one morn, gettin' some bread for my Ma. I were handin' my coin to the baker, and all outa nowheres, a lad 'bout my age came racin' by...all in a hurry. Why, he knocked me over, spillin' a burnin' fire all over me...burnt my skin, right here it did..." the man pulled his shirt off and Yona was obliged to peer at the scar burn on the man's shoulder and chest. " I hadn't even stopped writhin' like a snake from the pain when them Guards captured me...set me here without a trial..." he paused dramatically, seeming the well-trained player that Yona suspected he was, " set me here for twenty-three years, I never seen the sight of the sun in that long." He sighed before continuing, " Help me...please help me...will you set me free, my good, er, um... man?" Yona nearly smiled, being disguised as a sexless person had countless advantages, not in the least, disconcerting people. He glanced cautiously down the corridor for the guard, and, seeing none, walked over to the prisoner. The man leaned forward in anticipation and grunted in surprise. He fell back heavily onto the stone floor of his cell. Yona moved back into his position, slipping his poisoned stiletto back into it's impermeable slot on his thigh. 'People shouldn't meddle.'

* * *

**Mother Iku's** pursed lips did nothing for her wrinkled face. 'She looks more like a raisin every time I see her,' Count DeBracey thought. The man bowed courteously, 

" Mistress Iku, it is good to see you again. But what is it that you are here for?" He sat quietly and attentively as he signed behind his back to Marcus, who sat on his father's sofa behind the desk at which his father sat. Marcus silently read his father's hands. _Leave. Careful, keep watch. Go to Y-O-N-A_. Marcus stretched and made his excuses. The elderly mistress of the Green Coterie nodded and the young man left, pleased at escaping a further encounter with the bossy and irritable woman.

" I come to ask for information on your son's whereabouts nearly a month ago. I have had news from my agents that he may have meddled in some rather dangerous, but highly sensitive matters. Unwittingly, of course. I would be obliged if you would regale me in his itinerary." For all that her words were formed as a request, her tone indicated her true meaning. A Mother of the Green Coterie... or any Coterie never truly asked. They demanded.

The Count frowned slightly, though his appearance was still that of a friendly and attentive listener.

" My dear woman, I cannot begin to believe that Marcus would have engaged in any dangerous acts, however unwittingly. I thank you for your concern most heartily. Would you care to join me for my afternoon tea?" He got up and reached for the cord, which, like it's twin in every room in the palace, rang the servants' quarters.

Mother Iku's lips shrunk further.

The Count watched interestedly as her knuckles whitened, the parched and puckered skin rasping dryly as she clenched her fists. She stood in a fury.

"I will have your son's itinerary! I must know!" She lunged towards the count and grasped him with an unexpected strength from such an elderly woman... " I WILL have it. You do not want the Green Coterie against you!" The Count unpried her hands from his tunic and stood. He took her gently yet firmly by the elbow and escorted her to the door, where he turned her to face him. When he spoke, his quiet voice penetrated the corners of the room, and he explained to Mother Iku in a gentle voice.

" I have no doubt that the Green Coterie is a dangerous cult. But I know for a fact what you know, that the Red Coterie is known for their perilous antagonization. I am on of three who have escaped their wrath with my life. The Green Coterie is mild by comparison." He smiled, just as polite as when she had entered not a minute ago, " Now as you have chosen not to stay for tea, I would ask you to withdraw most kindly, Mistress Iku. Good day to you." She was ushered out without any more ceremony and the oaken door closed heavily behind her.

The Count's friendly smile died as the sound of the door closing echoed through the room. He glanced towards the desk, knowing full well that it would be searched later, no doubt by one of Mother Iku's spies. He left the room and made his way to the stables, where he saddled his mount and rode into the city.

He arrived at the Beggar's Mug at ten in the evening, the middle of the heavy drinking time of night. The bartender nodded towards the back wall, where a large door stood blatantly.

When the Count emerged an hour later, he rode back to the palace, where he had a brief meeting with his son. Marcus then wrote a short message on a tiny scrap of paper and made his way to the rose garden, where the note was discarded at it's proper place.

Yona, of course, found it with very little trouble. ' So the Green Coterie is onto the Count...this is expected. A little sooner than I had thought, but it hardly matters.' Marcus, unbeknownst to his father, had long been in the Queen's service. One of his main objectives in the Mattensworth Estate area had been involving the Gypsies. ' And now those adverse to the Queen's desire for a child, the Green Coterie, have found one of the major agents in the scheme. How the plot thickens...'

* * *

**"Perhaps** the Green Coterie has had the King's ear from the start, and they are only now showing their faces." Abby nodded, but a frown still marred her features. 

" Even if that were true, Keosha, why would Natalia contact us now in regard for the gypsies...it makes not a bit of sense." They walked down the stone corridors, unwittingly giving several listening ears a bit of information as yet unknown to the efficient gossip chain of the palace servants.

Mary Ellen smiled. ' And not a bit of sense it will make, yer ladyship when the Mother Iku has the King's Council arrest yer lover for consortin' with other magic suppliers.' The young maid slipped off to find the woman to paid her so well.

* * *

**Within **an hour, the Royal Guards were handed the writ for the young Sir Count DeBracey's arrest. As they went out in search of him, Mother Iku watched, satisfied from her third-storey window. ' Poetic justice. He valiantly helps the gypsy-vagrants escape, only to be arrested and imprisoned himself for breaking the magical supply code.' Her faded green eyes were lit with evil happiness as she watched the guards move steadily closer to the rose garden, where the unsuspecting Count and the heir to the Mattensworth estate, his lover, sat in the peace of a sunny afternoon.

* * *

I apologise for the short chapter...haven't had time. 

Posted on March 22nd, 2oo5


	28. Separation, Realisation, Action!

**Chapter 28: Separation, Realisation, Action!**

Hershel and Hinda lay, suffocating under piles of hay that itched and scratched, causing their piles of hay to shift, one of many consequences if they moved. So they did not move.

For the concealed gypsies, their rides in the wagons felt as days, though 'twas only three to six hours, varying for each wagon.

At last, the cart stopped and they held their breath. The hay overtop their bodies was being shifted and there! Glorious sunlight! Hinda pushed through the hay, uncaring of who it was that released her from the horrid confines. She breathed deep the fresh air, unfortunately ripe with the scent of hay, a smell she had grown far too accustomed to in her four hour journey.

She quickly turned to help the others from the wagon, eager to find Hershel and pick the hay off him. She helped old Chiam and his wife, Hadara and Ideh, a girl her own age. Even as she rejoiced to see so many of her caravan-mates, she became quite frantic. She helped Japhet and Nizana...but no Hershel... and little Shira and Ariza, her mother's friend, but no Hershel. Ephram and Caleb, Hershel's friends.

Eventually, the wagon was emptied of both people and hay...and no sign of Hershel. Hinda's eyes welled with tears even as her heart welled with a cold, stabbing sorrow.

Hinda began to shake uncontrollably and her collapsed on the dirt road. A wail rose from her lips that carried far into the country and woods.

Hershel sat staring into the bonfire. He sat the whole night, staring...blinking occasionally. He had searched his own wagon thoroughly. Meir wasn't there...neither was Hinda.

Both camps of gypsies stayed in the countryside, working in the fields for the harvest. Neither knew where the other had gone, and every gypsy was forbidden to wander past the confines of their farm.

Keosha wiped the sweat off her friend's pale face. The king had arrested and imprisoned the former Knighted Count DeBracey, stripping Marcus of his titles, leaving him simply as Marcus DeBracey, commoner. He was forbidden visitors, including his noble father.

But Abby, rather than rally to her love, had withdrawn from the world, and taken ill. Her constant shivering fits and profuse sweating had been seen as a menace to the Court's health and they had been bidden home to the Mattensworth Estate, where the Earl, thankfully, was not.

He had been called to business, a chore which, despite his ever-pressing wedding day, had not slowed in the slightest.

Sophia and Keosha had talked at length, while the maidservant tended her mistress and friend. Keosh told her all that had happened, and shared the short letter that arrived from the Royal Castle.

_My Dearest Keosha,_

_The manner in which you were taken from me angered me to no end. Uprooted in the middle of the night, with no time for a farewell! I cannot endure not seeing your beauteous face, your very scent haunts every step that I take...I yearn for your calm manner and loving nature. So much more I could say, but my common sense (too close overwhelmed by my love for you), bids me to continue on to other matters._

_I know not how much information Marcus relayed to Lady Abigail, not how much of it she spoke of to you. I shall tell you of Yona, someone who helped us (the naming of 'us' would only give meaning to unwelcome eyes, should any come to read this letter) with the project for which the former count is imprisoned. You must know that your mistress's beloved is not allowed visitation rights, but Yona knows that not. He has spoken with Marcus many times and a plan cannot be devised. His trial is tomorrow, and Marcus is no more prepared for it than the rat who takes the cheese from the trap. I fear he will have an unfair trial, with the expected verdict of death._

_I mean not to trouble you, but to warn you and your mistress of the Court's feel in this case. The King is jittery, blowing hot then cold with in the same hour. The Court is a quiet and timid place, and many have left, so cold the climate is._

_Queen Moraine's scandal, of course, you heard of before you left. I pity the poor woman, who seems so broken now her last hope for a child is gone. Why the king made it public I do not know. When few knew, there was still a chance that the thieves could be found, but now that all in Arulanthu knew of the vial's worth, the price would be a ten thousand fold the original._

_Tend your mistress, but pity her not. I had though she was made of sterner stuff than to be taken ill at her love's captivity. I mean no offence to you nor to your friend, but to wonder that she had done nothing. If I offend, tell me so in your reply and I'll say nothing of the sort again, for I value the very ink of your words which speak of you and your unparalleled beauty._

_I cannot away to you just yet as my sister is in dire need of companionship. The loss of her fiancé was difficult for her, and though I understand true love's call, I cannot help but feel anger at Marcus's mistreatment of her. For all he is a friend, a man he is also._

_With more love than what would outweigh all oceans,_

_Your devoted and cheerless paramour, _

_Antony Dewhurst._

Sophia emptied the used water through the window and into the bushes below. A maid took it after handing her another, filled with warm water, which the two women used to bathe their friend's face and neck.

It was sure that nothing could be done against Sophia's upcoming marriage. She was more or less reconciled to the fact that she was die in a loveless marriage to a cruel and calculating husband. More or less...but not completely.

Sophia stared out of the windows, but saw nothing of the landscape before her. Already, she lived in the Duke's household, although she had seen nothing of him. Her rooms were large enough and well-situated, but they lacked something. 'Comfort. That's what it is, comfort.'

Sophia shook her head and returned to Abby's side. The brunette tossed and turned, her face an alarmingly pale shade. Keosha looked up with her full lips pursed.

" If she continues like this, I fear she'll not live out the week. An apothecary might do her some good, but-" Sophia nodded in understanding.

" Yes. She's lost her will to live." Suddenly the blonde turned on her friend, lying colourless on the bed. " Why? You have a man's love, you are loved!" She yelled at Abby in an irrational manner, too angry to stay calm, even in a sickroom. Abby's eyes had fluttered open and lost their too-familiar vacant look. " WHY? YOU ARE BEING SELFISH!" The blonde glared furiously at the other woman. " You have Marcus' love, and he yours, but as soon as there's a obstacle in your way, you take sick! What right have you to a man's love, when there are those doomed to a loveless marriage!" Sophia shook and her hands clenched into fists. " You may think you love Marcus, but that is obviously a lie! You cannot love that which you will not help!"

The woman's blue eyes filled with tears and she shook her head again.

" Wake up...Marcus is to be tried tomorrow...and you lie here like a sickly grandmother. You disgust me. How can I call you a friend when you've disappointed me so greatly?" She left, closing the doors quietly behind her.

Abby sat up in the bed, her grey eyes wide. She looked to Keosha, but her maid shook her head.

" Don't look at me for sympathy. You, you-" she stopped, not trusting herself not to yell at the noblewoman.

Abby watched as her second friend left her room. She stared at the mirror and was shocked to see how pale she had become, and the dark smudges under her eyes, proof of many restless nights. Her eyes looked unnaturally large, almost scary.

" I'm killing myself." Abby realised. Suddenly one of Sophia's sentences filtered through her sleep-muddled brain, 'Marcus is to be tried tomorrow...' Abby turned to the basin on the side table and washed her face. Suddenly, she got up, shakily, and made her way to her wardrobe.

A half hour later, she emerged, her face still pale, but with a slight flush invading her cheeks. Abby made her way down to the stables, where she ordered the carriage.

After the stables, she went to the kitchen, where she ordered a startled Cook and Cook's Helper to pack enough food for a carriage ride to Mantol.

When she came face to face with Keosha and Sophia in the garden, she stopped. They looked at her.

" When do we leave?" Abby raised an eyebrow.

" We?" Keosha nodded.

" Yes, we." Abby shifted her gaze to Sophia, returned her gaze boldly.

Abby nodded slowly. She had expected that the would want to accompany her.

" Then it's well that I had Cook prepare food for three." They smiled, and the tension in the air became more apparent. Abby turned to Sophia and the blonde watched her friend's eyes fill with tears. " I'm sorry, Sophia. I didn't mean to be unfeeling. I just, I felt too horrible to go on...I thought that there was no hope...I was wrong. So wrong." Her voice was low, and here it began to shake. " Please...please...forgive me..."

Sophie felt her nose prickle as Abby spoke. The prickling was a forerunner to the salty tears that ran down her cheeks, but she choked out her reply.

" I forgive you...please just do something...try _something_." Abby nodded and they embraced, each crying quietly into the other's shoulder.

The Mattensworth carriage was rolling out of their estate half an hour after they had made up in the garden.

Abby stared out the window into the sunset, the dying rays highlighting her hair and adding a sparkle to her eyes. ' I'm coming Marcus...I'm coming.'

* * *

Do you want me to apologise? I've been horribly busy. I _am_ sorry. I've sort of lost interest...but I will finish the story, I promise. 


	29. Plans

**Chapter 29: Plans

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**

coughcough tries pathetically to dance, fails, but hopes that her 2, two, TWO, new reviewers will get the point. 

Akwyn-ohhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh! Who resisted the urge to put a space! I did!...even though my english teacher(fool though he is), gets angry at me when I don't put a space in and my computer has underlined it in squiggly red...but for you, dear reviewer, I'll not put a space (can't guarantee that I'll remember 100 of the time, though).

Yes, it is quite gross about Sophia and the Earl...thanks for the complement.

Yes...the ENCOURAGING...I'm sooooooo subtle, no?

Thanks...I'd no idea about the whole count-earl thing...my sources tell me otherwise, but I'll go with the flow (I'm not going to change it now, but I'll bow to your knowledge, k?).

Yes...the accents...but now the pathetic lack of...forgive me...thank you for reminding me about Natalie...and I've just the use for her...

smiles guiltily...ya...about the POVs...oooooooooooo, that's just embarassing. I desparately needed major restraint there...yayayaya...squeezing lemon juice on a cut...thanks for that...(joking, it's not that bad, but ya, I knew that the POVs were getting out of hand...others had mentioned it).

Thanks for the complements on the pairings...but again, I know...too much.

Dreamingdaemon-hey, I'm liking you! Thanks so much, and please, continue!

My Dearest Lizzy-Words cannot express how happy I was to find a full-fledged letter in my inbox, with the subject as a review! I was pleased beyond compare...especially as I hadn't expected anyone to still be reading after over, what...a month...two months?

Well...the whole lost interest thing, school played a huge part in that...I'm getting more interested, but I've lost a chunk of interest in it...I apologise... and I WILL finish it (even if it takes me a year!).

Can't give anything away about Hinda and Hershel...thanks for the comments and your opinions on Abby and Marcus.

Again, the updating...I'll do what I can.

Lol! Yesyesyes! I am a PotO fan as well... begins to sing random Phantom tunes Ah...Gerald Butler...see my little area for details.

* * *

Natalie began folding her mistress's nightgown as the Queen bathed behind a screen. There had been a slight wave of tension from the time that the King had arrested Marcus and stripped him of his titles. Natalie listened to Moraine quietly splash in the tub and pursed her lips. 'The King will destroy his count'y if he does not stop this madness! But what can we hope for? That his wife will inte'vene on the Gypsies o' the fo'mer count's behalf and he will lift the edicts on them? No, not likely.' The queen's voice, formerly so cheerful, had a heavy note to it since the loss of the precious vial. 

" Natalie, I'm finished here."

" Coming, you' Majesty." Natalie helped the Queen dry off and left her with her clothes for the morning.

The Queen left to play her role in the meeting of the Royal Council, and Natalie stayed behind. When she had said that should would not be coming with her as usual, the Queen had paused at the door.

" Why not?" Natalie curtsied,

" If it please you, Majesty, I've some tidying up to do. Marisa will go in my place." The Queen nodded, but her face became shadowed as she turned away, one of her other ladies-in-waiting trailing after her.

Natalie waited for a long five minutes before retreating to the back of the room, where she sat on one of the chairs and extracted a small fold of paper from her sleeve, where she'd inserted it when a stable-boy had slipped it to her in the servant's quarters earlier that morning.

She quickly opened it, noting the thin, graceful writing that addressed it to her.

_Natalie,_

_With any luck, this note will precede our arrival._

_My mistress, Abigail of Mattensworth has finally come to her senses! She comes (with her friend, the Countess Sophia and myself) to plead for the former count DeBracey's life. Perhaps she will succeed, but without your help, she surely won't. I ask you, please aid our cause, get us an audience with their Majesties, but not in front of the court or council. Men are easily persuaded by the presence of their peers._

_With many thanks,_

_Keosha_

Natalie stared at the piece of paper in her hand. Her mind was numbed...' Well at least _someone's_ doing something about it!' The maidservant got up and began cleaning, her clever mind at work. 'I'll get that noblewoman an audience if I have to beg fo' it!'

* * *

The Queen felt herself nodding off. She subtly reached inside a tiny pocket on her dress and pulled out a small vial. She opened it, sniffed it and closed it again. The vial contained distilled Wakeroot juice, whose scent was powerful enough to wake anything! But the Queen needed to stay awake in the council meetings, dull as they were. Even after years of sitting through them, there was still the occasion when her eyelids began to droop. 

The King reached over and gave her hand a reassuring squeeze. He glanced at her, and she could almost read his thoughts, '_Don't worry, this evening is the former count's trial...we'll see justice for the loss of the vial._' The Queen smiled, though somewhat stiffly.

Truth be hold, she did not want the count to suffer, to die. The order upon the Gypsies was uncalled for, but she had done nothing to stop it. So her husband, in the mad fury that had overtaken him, had ordered the horrible edict against them.

Moraine looked over the large room, to the large table where the fourteen councillors sat. One man was still reading out the reports of the harvest while the rest were supposed to be listening. A small smile threatened to betray her as she spotted a lord with his head propped in one hand, sleeping.

Just then, a page transferred a document to the King to sign. He dipped a quill into the pot of ink waiting, and placed the nib on the document to sign. The Queen noticed the intent stares of the councillors suddenly directed at the King. Several leaned forward and looks of almost evil anticipation crossed their faces. The Queen watched all of this with growing alarm.

Her husband began to sign, and the Queen watched as evil smiles flitted across the councillor's faces.

" Stop!" she cried. The King looked up in surprise and the councillors turned their intense gazes on his wife.

" Stop, don't sign, your Majesty. Please read over the document." She noted the councillors start with dismay. 'Ah...so they were plotting something!'

The King looked puzzled, but did as his wife requested.

" _I, King James the IV of Arulanthu do hereby give over all my monarchal rights to my fourteen councillors, who are listed below..._" The royal couple scanned the list of fourteen names that followed... the Lord Clement of DeBourge, Duke of Marling's Point, Fredrick of Carlot Moor, and nine other councillors' names...with an addition, " _The Earl of Mattensworth_."

The King's eyes narrowed. With a roar of fury he stood, upsetting the inkpot and writing desk in front of him.

" Guards! Soldiers! Seize these mongrels, these insolent, scheming dogs!" A troop of royal guards marched in and stood behind each of the councillor's chairs. The King stood, towering over the rest of the room from his dias. " You devious cowards! Your lives will pay the forfeit for your treachery!" He waved his hand, " Take them to the dungeons and lock them up!"

" Wait!" The Queen had spotted something. " The Count John DeBracey is not listed here." The King looked to the list of names.

" Release the count! The only decent man among you scumbags!" The King beckoned to the Captain of the Royal Guards and said, " Take a few men and apprehend the Earl of Mattenworth. His noble rights on his own lands to not extend to treasonous acts. Get the scribe to draw up a Writ of Arrest." He turned to his wife, " I have, of late, taken to signing documents without bothering to read, them. My greif over the lost vial has led me abandon my kingly responsibilities. It will not happen again." The king's eyes were shadowed but firm with purpose.

" Go. Do what preparations you must," The Queen pushed him towards the door which led to his study. He smiled tightly and hugged her close, kissed her on the cheek and left.

When the Queen returned to her chambers, Natalie was waiting for her. She led the Moraine to a chair, where the Queen laid back and sighed, closing her eyes. Natalie poured cool water from a silver pitcher and soaked a cloth, which she used to damped her mistress's forehead.

" You heard what has happened?" Natalie dabbed her friend again before answering.

" No, Majesty, what is it?"

" Thirteen of the King's Council have nearly succeeded in throwing him off the throne. Thirteen and one other. They took advantage of his grief, in which he had taken to not reading the documents which he was to sign...the one that he almost signed would've given those fourteen men more power than the King." Natalie's eyes had grown wide and she gasped at intervals. Sympathetically, she rubbed the Queen's shoulders. " First the vial, then the gypsies and the count, now this...what is happening to us?"

" I don't know, Majesty, I just don't know." She paused. " Pe'haps, Majesty, do you think the King ov'acted with the count?" Moraine sighed heavily.

" You know, Natalie, I was thinking that only a few hours ago. What a shame that his life should be put to an end because of my foolhardiness. It wasn't even those gypsies who had anything to do with the vial. Consequently, his helping them had nothing to do with the vial either. But his Majesty was and is so angry...he would not have listened to reason."

Natalie poured her a cup of tea and one for herself before sitting down on a footstool beside her mistress, monarch and friend.

" Could I ask a favou', Moraine?" The Queen looked up,

" Of course, Natalie." The maidservant took a deep breath.

" I have mentioned my cousin, Keosha to you before..."

* * *

Bram watched as a black carriage whipped through the streets of Lennick's Marketplace. His sharp greeny-brown eyes blinked and he got up in a flash. 

Natalie had asked for his aid. He was to watch for the carriage and when it arrived, to take Keosha and the other two noblewomen through the secret corridors of the palace to the Queen's chambers, where they would wait for an audience with the King and Queen.

He crouched on the railings of a bridge and as the carriage went under, he jumped, landing like a cat on the rain-slicked black roof.

* * *

" What was that?" Inside the carriage, Sophia glanced anxiously up to the roof. Keosha yawned. 

" Nothing...your imagination, Sophie. We're in the Marketplace...less than an hour's half left to go." Abby nodded, though neither of the other two women were sure she knew what she was agreeing to.

* * *

Outside, Bram quietly clubbed the driver and shoved him to the side of the driver's seat. The man made a sharp turn, and directed the carriage another direction... 

When the carriage finally came to a stop, the women inside were grateful. The journey had been long and uncomfortable, and Abby's pensive state had not lightened the mood.

Sophia reached for the carriage door, when suddenly it opened on it's own. Brams's ruby-studded grin greeted them.

Sophia jumped back in surprise and fear, but the other two leaned forward in recognition.

" You!" Keosha glared at him... " I never did have the chance to warn you away from Nat. I knew you were up to no good! Where's the driver?" Bram's smile grew and without a word, he handed a small fold of paper to the tempestuous maid.

Keosha took it suspiciously, but unfolded it and read it to herself. She then showed the other two before reading aloud,

" _Keosha, trust Bram. He'll help you get to where I need you. Love, Nat_." She read it over a few times before sniffing. " I suppose we can trust him." Abby nodded, but eyed him warily nonetheless.

The three women followed him out of the carriage and down a muddy road. Finally, they entered a house, where he led them into the basement. He lit a lantern and kicked a braided rug.

" Ah do 'ope none of ye be afeared of crawlies." Said Bram as he lifted a door in the floor. The descended the ladder, and through several tunnels they walked, following the trustworthy stranger.

After nearly an hour of endless passageways, they climbed a ladder and found themselves in yet another passageway, only this had stone walls.

" Oh!" breathed Abby. " We're in the castle!" Bram nodded. After another few minutes of navigation through the passageways, Bram stopped in front of a wooden door. He sat down on the cold stone and motioned for them to do the same.

" We be in a passageway leadin' to the Queen's chambers. When Nat gives the cue, ye three'll go through the door way. That could be for a while yet, so relax yerselves...I'll tell ye when to go. Keep silent...if ye don't, we'll be given away."

And there they waited. For what seemed like hours, Abby was left with her own thoughts as company. 'Oh Marcus! How could I have abandoned you? You'll die today, and I'll have done nothing to stop it!' The young woman's thoughts ran along these lines for hours. Her sorrow grew with the hours and nothing but her love for Marcus kept her from weeping bitter tears.

* * *

After the evening meal, the King and his Queen left the Dining Hall. They chose to spend some companionable time together, in the Queen's waiting room. Once there, she dismissed all of her ladies-in-waiting save Natalie, who stayed to serve refreshments to the royal couple. 

The King read over several reports and the Queen read a novel, while glancing from time to time at the tapestry on the wall.

Behind the door, Bram and the three women could hear vague noises, and their anxiety increased. 'Oh, goddess, let their majesties be merciful!' Abby prayed silently.

Suddenly, the King flung down the sheaf of papers in his hand and rubbed his eyes.

" I am a horrible King...and a worse husband." The Queen looked up, startled. She got up and knelt by her husband's chair and leaned her cheek in his lap.

" No. You have ruled wisely and well...over my heart _and _this kingdom." James smoothed his wife's hair from her forehead.

" What sort of wise King makes rash orders, orders which could end a man's life? The former Count DeBracey should be doing whatever it is young Counts do, getting drunk, dancing all night, hunting deer, courting some girl." He groaned. " Instead, he languishes in prison, without the comfort of visits from his father. His father! Count John DeBracey, who I now find is the only one of my councillors who can be trusted." The Queen rose and kissed him gently on the lips.

" James, everyone makes mistakes."

" No, monarchs ought not to do so." Moraine opened her mouth to protest, but he placed a finger on her lips, stopping her. " No. Moraine, I was not meant for kingship. If I should abdicate, everyone assumes that Arulanthu will be thrown into civil war." Moraine stared at him.

" 'Everyone assumes'? James, you know it to be true." A tiny smile tugged at the King's lips and he shook his head slowly.

" I know no such thing. Should I abdicate in favour of my cousin, Lawrence, there would not be civil war." The King leaned back in his chair and the Queen rose. She moved her chair beside his as he continued, " Lawrence would abdicate in favour of his nephew, Jalorid, the Earl of Kelderstone. He is a worthy young man...the sort any people would accept as their king. No-one can argue Lawrence's right to the throne, and thus his nephew's, whose father was my own uncle. Yes. This could work."

* * *

Natalie listened from behind a maid's screen. 'Lovely...a wonde'ful plan, Majesty, but why'd you have to tell Mo'aine about it _now_!' she sighed quietly, thinking of her cousin, Bram, Abby and Sophia in the passageway...waiting.

* * *

If you're reading, please review...just a quick "hey, i'm reading this story." would be wonderous. Thanks so much.

Posted on June 2nd and 3rd 2005


	30. The Plea

**Chapter 3o:**** The Plea**

**Mellor**-(I'm liking the name)...thankyouthankyou.

**Lizzie**-Lol! Hehehehe...I know... the King and Queen were beginning to irritate me...I felt that b/c I brought Natalie back, Bram oughtta come too. Glad you liked it (even if it was only for the new found sensibility of the monarchs)

**Loving-Life**...! yay! You're back! I'm so pleased that you liked ch. 21...thanks for the complements. (You're always important to me!)

Oooo...O.o...I shall keep the it's, its, your, and you're 's in check...thanks for pointing them out!

**ElvenSilver**- coughs nervously...yes, uh...thanks for the complements...and yeah, it's been a while, but I've got stuff going these first three (full) weeks of July.

**A general note:** Please forgive the horrible time lapse between Chapter 29 and this chapter. I'm having a horrible time with the finale and drawing it all up to a satisfying denouement. I hope this chapter will do.

* * *

**Abby's** leg was cramped. She couldn't move it. Honestly, she could hardly move anything, let alone a leg. Keosha and Sophia had fallen asleep an hour ago...or a minute ago, Abby couldn't be sure. Abby shifted slightly, wincing as unpleasant tingles ran through her body. Bram's sharp gaze turned to her, and met her eyes.

From beyond the door, she could hear vague mumblings, all hazy, whether from the wood obscuring them or from Abby's cramped and worried mind.

Bram finally spoke, the first to do so after they'd finally arrived at the end of the passage.

" We've got to get through. As soon as they've finished speakin' ye must open that door and go through," Abby gripped his arm,

" And what about you? Are you not staying?" She watched him, her fingernails almost piercing his skin through the cloth of his shirt. He pried her hand off him.

" I cannot...I've already stayed too long. Just be sure to catch both of them at the same time... I'll be 'opin' for ye're success." With that, the man disappeared down the passageway, leaving Abby and her two friends alone.

How long she waited, the woman wasn't sure. Finally there was a lapse in the sound beyond the door, and the noblewoman took a deep breath and leaned towards Keosha and Sophia. She touched them on the shoulders gently and they woke, both momentarily unsure of where they were. Abby leaned towards them,

" I think this is time," she whispered. They nodded and all three stood, brushing themselves off in an effort to look acceptable. Abigail turned towards the wooden door and reached for the small wooden handle.

But before her fingertips brushed the worn handle, the door slide open.

They held their breath as a head poked in. Natalia's worried face greeted them...

" You all 'ight?" They nodded. " Whe'e's Bram?" Abby shrugeged.

" He said he'd been here too long and left." Natalie shrugged, though she didn't seem satisfied by the explanation.

" The King and Queen've left. Don't fuss," she soothed Abby, whose eyes had widened in shock and fear. " You've not missed you'e chance. They'll be back in less than twenty minutes. I p'omise." Abby nodded. And Sophia, on her right, nudged her.

" Breathe," she advised when the noblewoman had looked at her. " You'll secure an audience with their Majesties." Abby nodded, trying to feel reassured. 'Not necessarily legally,' Sophia thought to herself, 'but one must do what is required.'

Natalia handed them a bundle of a napkin and a small water-skin. " I don't know when exactly they'll come back, so keep safe." With that, she closed the door, leaving the three women in darkness. Natalia turned and began straightening the room. She tidied and cleaned, trying to fill the time until the King and Queen came back.

Five minutes crawled by, followed by another...and another. Finally, eleven minutes had passed since the King and Queen had left, and Natalia had run out of things to do. She sat, staring at the clock for what seemed like an hour, but was only a carefully regulated two minutes.

Behind the door, Abigail, Sophia and Keosha were munching quietly on the meat-stuffed bread rolls and pasties from Natalia, occasionally sipping from the water-skin, much oblivious to the turmoil which surrounded the woman on the other side.

Fifteen minutes passed. Then the clock showed the progression of eighteen minutes...

Twenty-two minutes...followed by twenty-three...

Natalia paced nervously, her senses alert to the point of being frantic. The woman's palms were sweating and her movements were agitated, as she walked quickly and slowly by turns. Suddenly, she froze. Footsteps echoed in the corridor, and she turned in a panicked circle before seating herself on a chair, needlework in hand. The steps came closer and closer...paused at the door...and moved on. Natalia fought the urge to open the door and yell at whomever had walked by.

" Who do they think they are? Walking by as if they had a right..." the woman muttered unreasonably under her breath as she resumed her jittery pacing of the room. Finally, twenty-seven minutes later, more steps were heard in the corridor. Natalia sat with her needlework again, her back to the door. The footsteps slowed and stopped. And the door opened.

The Queen's golden eyes were tired but alert as she called,

" Natalia? Would you mind ringing for some tea?" Natalia nodded, walked over to the cord, and pulled it. The King and Queen sat down at a small table as Natalia gathered her mistress's own needlework in case she called for it. A quiet scratching at the door bade the maid servant to open it, and a maid stood, awaiting the reason for the bell.

" Tea for five, please." Natalia requested very quietly. The maid nodded and left as Natalia closed the door and turned back. " The tea will be here soon, your Majesties."

" Very good, thank you Natalia." The King said, as Natalia sat and continued her needlework. The King and Queen sat in silence, and Natalia prayed that Abby would recognise the timing. To the woman's relief, the tapestry covering the small door moved slightly and the Queen turned in alarm. The King rose form his chair and drew his sword.

Then, quite suddenly, there were three more people in the room than a minute before. All three women immediately sank into deep curtsies in front of the stunned monarchs. Natalia took the silence as an opportunity.

" You Majesties, my I p'esent the Countess Abigail of Mattensworth, Lady Sophia of Lelly's B'ook, and Keosha Jameson, the Countess's maidse'vant and my cousin." The Queen glanced at Natalia, her brow lifted in a half amused half vexed look. The King was less amused.

" You come, uninvited to her Majesty's quarters. What have you to say for yourselves before I summon the guards?" He was standing, his sword still unsheathed as he glared at the prostrate figures. Abby raised her head.

" I beg your forgiveness for my intrusion, your Majesties. But I knew that I could not obtain a proper audience with either of you either today or tomorrow. Please, hear what I have to say." The King, his face as unforgiving as could be, opened his mouth, obviously to refuse, but the Queen stopped him. She beckoned him and he leaned towards her to hear what she whispered to him. After a moment of listening, he straightened, paused and then nodded. His comely features had softened.

" We will hear you." The King sat with courtly grace and waited with steepled fingers to hear what the Countess had to say. Abby licked her dry lips nervously before continuing, the thought of her beloved Marcus imprisoned spurring her on.

" I thank you, your Majesties for your mercy. I am here to beg your further mercy on a poor man who is imprisoned so wrongly." She paused, and looked directly into the King's eyes. " The former Count Marcus DeBracey is wrongfully accused. The accusations against him over the affair of the gypsies' escape are woefully ignorant. He did not simply assist them, but was an active part in their flight!" For a moment, the whole room stared at her in shock.

'Has she gone mad!' Sophia thought wonderingly.

Keosha narrowed her eyes... 'The idea was to impress his innocence, not his guilt!'

Abigail, the Countess, her face pale as the moon, continued. " Marcus DeBracey was a leading force against the gypsies' erroneous imprisonment and also their righteous escape from your dungeons! You have jailed a man for helping innocent people! And now you would lead him to a trial, where it is almost certain he should meet death. Would you put a man to death for standing for justice? You, whose father imposed the force and weight of truth and justice in the civilised world...you would have a man executed for doing truth's work?" Again she paused, and the woman held her head high, her eyes burning with a fierce, blue light. A silence of wonder filled the Queen's chambers.

" Would you execute a man whose only crime is serving the innocent? This man I speak of is an honourable, handsome, strong, sympathetic, and loving man...would you execute such a man? Would you execute a man who has given his titles and very nearly his _life _without complaint? Your Majesties," Abby threw herself forward at the King's feet and turned her teary but potent gaze to his face. " Would you execute the only man to kiss me? Would you execute my beloved?" Her words rang through her audience's ears and squeezed their hearts. Tears fell silently from the Countess of Mattensworth's face onto the King's felt shoes. A whisper escaped her trembling lips, so faint that those in the room had to strive to hear it.

" Marcus is innocent, my King. I beg you...do not kill an guiltless man." A tear ran down the King's face, a twin to those on his wife's. The Queen reached over an held her husband's hand. They exchanged one look, a look full of meaning and love. And that is all it took.

Drawing a shaky breath, the King replied,

" No...I would not kill such a man. He is pardoned." Abby's tears did not cease as she rose.

" Thank you, sire. Could I...could I see him? Please?" The King raised his voice and called for a guard. While he waited for them, he wrote out a short note and, using his signet-ring, sealed the note with scarlet sealing wax. When a squad of guards had entered the room and stood at attention, he spoke,

" The former Count DeBracey is to be acquitted of all charges and brought here immediately. Give this to the Count John, who will see that my orders are carried out." The squad saluted and marched out of the chambers.

When the captain of the squad handed Count John the note, he glanced questioningly at the man before opening it. The man's tired brown eyes scanned the note which freed his only son. Relief and happiness flooded his previously fatigued features and he stood somewhat shakily.

As the Count made his way to the dungeons, the King signed a write acquitting Marcus DeBracey of any charges and reinstating his nobility and his knighthood.

Within minutes, father and son embraced as Sir Marcus DeBracey left his prison cell, a free man.

I'm sorry that this is so short after such a long interlude between chapters, please forgive me and if you could find it in your hearts to review, I'd really like that.

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Posted on: July 29th, 2005 (Edited with many thanks to Akwyn and re-posted on the 30th of July) 


	31. Finally and Too Late

**Akwyn**- I knew there was something wrong with the sentence! Thanks so much, I went back and edited the whole 'prostrate' thing...a-hem...yes, that was just not good at all. Surprisingly, the speech came to me in a rush...unfortunately my typing skills were hard pressed to keep up with my thought! Thanks for reviewing.

**Karolyn Balafonte-** Yes, I do realise that the plot was far too drawn-out, but I must say that if you don't like my characters it puzzles me as to why you have bothered to read any of it...perhaps reading on in hopes that it would improve was your reason. As they didn't, there was no point in you reading further. I finished it for my reviewers as my 'profile' thing states.

**Gigi- **thanks for the headsup, but I fixed **Akwyn**'s...my laziness is growing even as we speak...I've no intention of fixing anything else...lol. Thanks for the luck.

**ElvenSilver**- I assume you meant 'updated', but thanks for the complements...oh, I'm blushing. (Smiles)

I had hoped for five reviews to Chapter 30 before I posted this chapter, however one cannot have everything in life...where would we put it?

* * *

**Chapter 31: Finally and Too Late**

Mother Iku and the Green Coterie had left their residence in the palace. A whisper of the King's decision to abdicate in favour of Lawrence and through him to the Earl of Kelderstone had proved true, and the woman had wasted no time in gathering her belongings and followers and retreating from Arulanthu. Even as the King discussed the matter with his cousin in one of the Queen's anti-chambers, the old wrinkled woman was being conveyed by carriage to the nearest sea-port, thence to be taken by ship to Manisanri, where she would report to the Mother and Father...perhaps they would forgive her for her failure to create civil-war in Arulanthu...if not, Iku shuddered to think the tortures she would have to endure to be found worthy of another post.

* * *

Duke Hubert of Lormington, employee of the Green Coterie and employer of Yona, was found, cudgelled to death by the room's fire-poker. A note was pinned to his back by a non-discript dagger, reading,

_He who lays here is a traitor to the Crown._

_The Vial is to be found at #7 Rock's Edge Street._

The guards stared at the note, incredulous. The Captain of the King's Guard knelt and wrenched the dagger with a squelching sound from the expired Duke's back.

" We'll not find the murderer. Best take this to his Majesty." The soldiers filed out, leaving the Duke's body lying where it had been found, his eyes still staring vacantly at nothing.

Yona stood, as he had through the whole exchange (from the time the Duke had been discovered to when the maid and run screaming out, to when the guards had arrived and left, the note in hand) at the window, watching interestedly as people discovered his work. 'There are just too many nobles to please them all,' he thought, as his eyes played idly over the small black petal stuck through the Duke's button-whole. The Captain was too sharp a man not to have noticed it. 'Luckily he is wise enough not to meddle. If onlynobles were as wise.' Yona reflected on how easily the Duke had told him the Vial's whereabouts. 'Such a stupid man...I'm nearly ashamed to have been employed by him.'

The man slipped from the window, contemplating how to tell Iloria that her least-favourite whoremonger was dead. ' A bottle of the wine, I think, and the contribution from the Duke's jewellery collection should do the trick.' Smiling happily, the spy leapt from the Castle walls, well pleased to be leaving his former employer for good.

* * *

Abby paced nervously in one of the Queen's sitting rooms. She was waiting with Sophia and Keosha, both of whom watched her nervously. Their attempts to calm her had been rejected and/or unsuccessful, leaving them with no other option but to retreat and watch over their agitated friend.

The tea that Natalia had ordered arrived, rising and dashing the Countess's hopes as waves of a storm on the rocks. The King and Queen had removed to speak privately, and Natalia was with them.

Finally, after nearly a quarter-hour, there came a soft knock at the sitting room door, and Abby froze. Sophia and Keosha rose, and the latter went to the door and admitted the newly re-instated Knighted Count Marcus DeBracey. The two women left, leaving Abigail and Marcus alone, with the door open a crack for posterity.

Marcus, who had obtained a fresh set of clothes and a lightening-quick bath on his way to the Queen's chambers, no longer stank of the dungeons.

Abby spoke first.

" I'm sorry, Marcus. I didn't do nearly enough to spring you from prison. I panicked and...and withdrew." A tear escaped her and trickled down her pale cheek. In five long strides, the man crossed the room and cradled her in his arms.

" Don't be sorry. You did free me in the end...you forced the King to see reason. And I am here." She shook her head.

" No, you don't understand. I made myself believe there was nothing to be done and I left! I left the palace and went home, where I stayed selfishly in bed, convinced that you were as good as dead...I cannot even ask you to forgive my stupidity and betrayal of our love." She pushed out of his embrace and paced the room again. " I am sorry if you held onto the belief that you had loved a virtuous and loyal woman...but I am not she. Go back to Jeanine! She is worthier of such a man as you."

With that shocking statement, Abigail ran from the room. Marcus stood frozen for a moment before racing after her.

He chased her through many corridors and eventually found her in the very garden that he'd been arrested in two months ago. Finally, she collapsed on the cobble-stone walkway, sobbing and weary. Marcus scooped her up in his arms and carried her to one of the benches, where he sat with her cradled in his arms for a half-hour.

" Abby...don't run from me. You sprung me from the dungeons. True, I'd have liked to be out sooner." He shook his head when she opened her mouth. " But I am out now. And I still love, you...in fact I love you all the more." With that, he kissed her, as sweet and passionate a kiss as he'd ever felt, and as reassuring a feeling as Abby had ever known.

They sat together, and spoke long into the night, finally together.

* * *

Hershel gasped as the dog's teeth sunk into his left calf. He bit back a scream. After nearly two months on the farm, labouring in exchange for the farmer's discretion, food and shelter, he'd had enough. However rash the idea was, the man had left in the dead of night, slipping out of the cramped log cabin the labouring gypsies used as housing, and over the harvested fields.

What he hadn't counted on was that the farmer had taken certain _precautions_ against his nomadic gypsy labourers leaving before the harvest was in. 'Namely several, obviously underfed dogs with,' Hershel thought bitterly as he tied a tourniquet tightly on his leg, 'incredibly long and sharp fangs.'

The man had only barely escaped the dogs, but not without losing far too much blood. 'Too much to get away,' Nevertheless, the gypsy stumbled off in the early morning light, trying not to lean on his injured leg...

Hinda lay on her small cot, a raging fever controlling her weakened body. The elderly Hadara bathed her forehead with wet clothes, hoping to bring down the fever. Ideh, her daughter, stood by.

" Any change?" Hadara's wrinkled face did not change, but her voice wobbled slightly as she replied,

" She is worse." Ideh's eyes filled with tears for her friend.

" She has magic from The Mother...cannot she heal herself?" Hadara turned to her daughter,

" Any gypsy with the magic can heal...and we know that Hinda can heal herself. But...I don't think she can...not after..." Ideh nodded as murmured,

" Yes, the news from the other farm...Hershel-"

" Was a foolish young man, acting like a child!" Ariza, Hinda's mother's friend, interrupted angrily from the doorway of the wooden long house type building. " It was the news of his death that is killing her!" Hadara sighed quietly and poured a mouthful of syrup into her patient's mouth, hoping that a third dose would help.

" Those herbs won't help, Hadara! She has lost the will to live! Her husband is dead, and in her heart she lives no more. It is only her body that is alive, and even that is fading." Ariza's face was wet with tears and she left, saying over her shoulder, " You'd best let her die in peace...with the knowledge that her husband has killed her!" Ephram, a close friend of Hershel, winced at the woman's harsh words and voice. He stood beside Hinda's cot and shook his head.

" Fool. He could have stayed another fortnight and held his wife again, instead he tries to escape and is torn to bits by dogs." Ephram turned and left, having paid his respects to his friend's wife.

Hadara and Ideh stayed with Hinda that night, as they had for the two nights before...as they had since Hinda had been told of her husband's death.

They sat with her, bathing her forehead and trying different herbs. The only person with magic who worked on their farm had tried many times to help, but Hinda's body was fighting against healing of any sort. Her body was dying, and her soul was too grieved to care.

The dawn broke over the fields, all nearly harvested. Suddenly, Hinda opened her eyes. She was alert, and she focused on old Hadara's face.

" Hershel? Where is Hershel?" Hadara opened her mouth to respond, but she couldn't. Even so, the sorrow in the old woman's eyes seemed enough of an answer. Hinda's once lively green eyes dulled and she murmured softly, her voice filled with despair,

" Then I must die too..."

Hinda closed her eyes one last time...never to open them again.

The sun rose steadily in the sky, illuminating the fields, the edge of the forest. A single figure staggered onto the field...his leg bloody and full of gore. Hershel's eyes blazed with a determined light as he limped unsteadily towards the long house.

By evening two graves, dug side by side had appeared on the edge of a nearby forest. Ephram had spent the day carving a single headstone from fallen wood, and the words and wood were enchanted to last until the Kingdom of Arulanthu was no more.

It read as follows:

_Hershel and Hinda_

_Husband and Wife,_

_Gypies._

_Born in 1240 and 1239_

_Died_ _in 1264,_

_Still loving the other.

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_

Posted on August 8th, 2oo5 


	32. Chapter 32

**ElvenSilver**- Hey, thanks so much for your appreciation of my writing, it is kindly received.

**Essence of Destiny**- You'll not get to this chapter for a while, but thanks for reviewing. Hmmmm... well, as to your comment on their speech patterns and such, I am attempting to recreate how people of olden times spoke (without the ye, thou, thee...and so on!)

**Kagome**- thanks! .:does New Reviewer Dance... everyone cringes:. Thank you and I will! Although...this is the last chapter... .: shrugs:.

**Chapter 32: Sentenced to Hang**

**(A Gesture of Friendship)

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**

**Abby** and Marcus stood, his arms around her as they watched from the stone balcony. Seven of the fourteen traitors to the crown stood on small wooden stools on the gallows, the hangman's nooses about their treacherous necks. With their hands tied and a company of guards between them and the crowd which had gathered, they were quite secure. 

The other seven stood with a guard on either side of them, waiting to be strung up.

One of the men in the line, tall with raven-black hair and piercing blue eyes shifted his gaze up to the balcony. Abby stared down at the former Earl of Mattensworth, her father. Marcus's arms tightened around his beloved, and she felt a tear trickle down her cheek. The former Earl glared contemptuously at his daughter before turning his disdainful attention to the Royal Crier, as he read the charges.

" May it be known to those gathered here and to those who will presently die, that the following fourteen men," here he listed all fourteen conspirators, " have been arrested and charged for your deliberate treachery against the crown. Your plot against the King was dishonourable and shameful. For such a crime, you have been sentenced to, on this day, the Seventeenth of October the year of our King, James the IV of Arulanthu, 1264, be hung from the neck until dead. May Solaro and Remaneen judge fairly on your souls." An ominous drumroll began, and the hangman walked over the gallows, tightening the nooses of each man. The hangman glanced up at the King's balcony when he'd finished tightening.

After a motionless moment, when the drummers ceased, the King nodded curtly. The hangman kicked the stool from beneath the first man, then the second, third, fourth...Abby turned her face in horror as the seven men hung from their ropes, some writhing and struggling, others immediately dead from their broken necks.

After a few minutes, it was clear that all seven were dead, and a cheer rose from the assembled crowd.

They were unstrung and their corpses thrown unceremoniously into a waiting cart.

The final seven were strung up and the same horrible ceremony of death took place. The former Earl's gaze did not leave his daughter, even as the hangman kicked to stool out from under him and his neck broke with a terrifically loud "CRACK!" which echoed frightfully in the courtyard. Abby turned into Marcus' chest again and stayed until she heard the corpses being thrown on top of the first seven into the cart. The rest had died by strangulation, and Abby turned a tear-stained face up at her Count. He kissed her forehead and whispered comfortingly,

" It's finished, Abby. He's gone." She sighed and another tear escaped her. " Why do you cry? Surely you did not love him in any way?" Abby shook her head,

" No...I did not love him. But he was the only father I had. And now he's dead." Marcus hugged her closer, moved and distressed by her lonely tone.

" But you have me. And_ I'll_ not leave you." So they stood, arms about the other long after the crowd had dispersed.

Sophia watched from a window, unsure how to take the death of her fiancé. She shrugged and left the window, only to encounter another happy couple. Keosha and her Lord Antony Dewhurst stood together, his hands cradling her face. They were whispering to each other in low voices, each with the same love-stuck look in their eyes that Sophia had seen in the Count and Abby's eyes. She sighed quietly and made her way to her quarters, where she promptly began giving orders for the maids to pack her things.

" I shall be leaving after the Countess of Mattensworth's wedding, and not an hour later."

* * *

**The King **and Queen had left the balcony overlooking the courtyard in a state of sadness and respectable amount of resignation. 

But now, nearly an hour later, their sadness and resignation were erased and feelings of exuberant hope had set in. The captain of the squad who had found the Duke of Lormington's body had been taken violently ill, so that he was much delayed in bringing the note. It was handed to the King, and within minutes, twenty armed men of the King's Guard arrived at number 7, Rock's Edge Street.

There was no response to the Guards' knocking, and they were obliged to break it down. After a quarter-hour of searching, a small, crystal vial was found.

The twenty officers of the King's Guards received a week's leave and a purse of gold coins.

That night, the King presented his wife with, firstly a note, written in the same hand as the tip.

_Your Majesties,_

_Allow me to introduce myself. I am the Duke of Lormington's murderer, and also the person who left the anonymous tip in his back. I know everything about the plot which so entangled your Majesites. The Mother and Father of the Manisanri Coteries have long been desiring civil war in Arulanthu, and Mother Iku of the Green Coterie was stationed in your palace as a way to widen the cracks which your Majesties faced with the political crisis._

_You nearly had her pinched with the discovery of the cordial, and your agreement with the old gypsy woman. I commend you._

_Unfortunately, she is a woman of means (Mother Iku, that is) and she easily paid Lormington to destroy the vial. He, in turn paid thugs to intercept the courier and steal the vial. He then ordered them to destroy it, but the gypsy knew her business and exactly who her customer was. She placed first-rate protection spells on the vial, and eventually, the hired Magicians gave up. The vial was meant to have been given back to the Duke when it's contents had been destroyed, however, the half-gypsy woman's spells prevented this, so his hired thugs and magicians left, and because of an unfortunate...incident...the Duke never knew._

_Mother Iku, coincidently, has fled with the news of your plan to abdicate...which you may not need to do now that your men have visited number 7, Rock's Edge Street._

_In all respects I truly hope for your continued reign, although, if I may be so impudent as to make a friendly suggestion... your nobles are bored with the court. You would do well to liven things up._

_With fondest wishes for your happiness,_

_Your Unknown Murderer._

" It was on my desk when I entered. The door was locked as was the window." The King explained when Moraine had finished reading. " Hard to decide to do. After all, this person freely admits to being the murderer." She smiled and shrugged,

" The Duke of Lormington was never in my good books. Now my darling," the Queen began, sitting beside the King on his bed, " What did your men find?" The King smiled in genuine happiness for the first time in months as he handed his wife a small vial.

The look on her face was of complete euphoria.

" The cordial of Tuliane flowers..." She turned her face up and kissed her husband has passionately as she knew how.

* * *

**It took Meir** several weeks to find any hint of Yona. Finally, he walked in the Forest for an hour, just to see. 

When the young gypsy had walked down the main paths, he slipped off them to the place where he'd been most happy, the place where their caravan had camped the night of Hershel and Hinda's wedding.

It was there that Yona found him, sitting in a tree.

" I heard you'd left your caravan after the farmers had discharged you all." The young boy nodded. There was a silence, and Meir spoke for the first time since receiving his awful news.

" Hershel and Hinda are dead." Yona bowed his head.

" Yes, Hadara told me." A tear leaked from the boy's green eyes.

" I never got to see them after the escape." Yona swiftly climbed the tree and settled beside the boy.

" They both loved you." Meir nodded. He knew that. Yona handed him a handkerchief and Meir used it before posing the question he'd been wanting to ask,

" May I stay with you?" the boy waited apprehensively for his answer, and when the spy spoke, it was slowly.

" You would not be a gypsy any more." Meir nodded, understanding. " And you would want to learn my arts?" Again he nodded. There was a short pause before Yona continued.

" Well then, we'd better get back to the city. There's plenty to be learnt."

The boy and the spy jumped from the tree and began walking in the direction of the city. Slowly, Meir's small hand reached out to the man's and grasped it. Yona look down into the boy's trusting eyes and felt a twinge of sadness. Here was a poor boy, the only two he'd ever loved were dead, and all he could do was place his faith in a dark stranger. Without thinking, Yona squeezed the boy's hand, a gesture of friendship.

They walked, hand in hand into the city, each hopeful of what was to come.

**Chapter 33: The Weddings**_ (a bonus)_

**Abby's** dark hair was pulled gently back from her face, a few trendles escaping to frame her rose-cheeked face. White and red rose buds made up her bouquet and decorated her hair. Her dress was of stunning white silk, with a square neckline, close fitting sleeves until the mid-forearm, where they spread into long and billowy. The dress emphasised her small waist with a burgundy, pearl-embroidered belt hanging over her hips and two feet down the centre of her dress. The hem of the dress, the sleeves and the neckline were all embedded with tiny, elegant pearls.

She exchanged a suppressed but joyous smile with her bridesmaids, Keosha and Sophia, who were dressed in dresses of green silk, in the same style of Abby's, though without the pearls and their belts were of a silvery material.

The beginning music began and Sophia, joined by Marcus's cousin, and then Keosha, joined by Lord Dewhurst, walked down the burgundy carpet. When they reached the Priest and Priestess of Solaro and Remaneen, they separated to their different sides and a flutes began to play. Taking a deep breath, she glanced up at Count John, soon to be her father-in-law as they walked, slowly and elegantly down the aisle to where Marcus awaited her.

He was dressed in a loose cream shirt, with similarly loose tan breeches and black boots reaching mid-calf. Marcus had had his wavy brown hair cut to just above his shoulders and on his forehead, it lay up on his handsomely tanned face. The Count's green-brown eyes returned her look of love and longing to an almost frightening degree.

Abigail and Marcus' eye contact didn't break as they listened vaguely to the Priest and Priestess and as they exchanged their vows of love.

" I, Marcus DeBracey, do solemnly swear to love and protect you, Abigail Mattensworth for so long as I can draw breath unto my body. I promise to cherish you with all the love in my being, and to respect your wit and beauty. I will love you for so long as I live, and should I break this vow, may I be taken from this world and left in the pits of hell." Abby's eyes were a grey-violet when she responded,

" And I, Abigail Mattensworth do truthfully swear to love and enjoy you and your company until I do lie dead. I promise to care for you when you are ill, and to praise you when you are whole. I promise to esteem your own intellect and your wisdom. Should I break my oath to love you, may I be carried from this world my the claws of demons to the cliffs of hell, where I should jump from...if I should ever stop loving you."

They promised with words, but it was through their eyes and in their souls that the oaths were made, and, doubtless they did not even hear the rest of the ceremony. They managed to walk from the Great Hall of the palace and into the awaiting carriage, but anything from there is a secret to anyone but the newly made Count and Countess DeBracey.

* * *

**Keosha** Jameson and Lord Antony Dewhurst were likewise bound together in the controversial, but in these cases, happy state of matrimony only a week after Abby and Marcus. 

Keosha wore a simple dress of a silvery-white material, and her smooth face was lit with the brilliance of the stars. Her bridegroom wore the same material as a shirt and black breeches and boots, and her ecstatic happiness was matched only by Antony's. His sister Jeanine, who had realised that there were still several gentlemen who would gladly court her, had met and immediately like Keosha and the two were fast friends. While Abby and Jeanine would not ever be considered close, they got on amiably, and so they were, respectively, maid of honour and matron of honour.

The ceremony joining Keosha and Antony was simple and beautiful, and the court celebrated this surge in weddings and also, gods willing, happiness.

**The End

* * *

**

I'd like to thank all of my reviewers (even the flames) for reading. While I did loose interest, it was for your guys' sake that I persisted and I'm glad I did. I hope you like what I've done to it, I hope it suffices. 

For specific 'thank-you's, check my profile thingy.


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